#in polish it is and it means something (or someone) that goes first at a risk of being burned by that new thing

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!

I love your writing so much and think about it maybe too often haha. Today I fell and sliced the back of my hand open so I had to go wait 4 hours at the ER to get it sutured back together and I thought it might be a sort of funny scenario to write about with the marauders where R just walks up to them covered in blood like “heyy who wants to drive me to the ER” and is pretty chill in demeanour until the reality of having a hole in her hand sets in once they clean her up. I went into shock then, lost my hearing for a few minutes which was scary, but luckily I had a someone nearby who could help. Of course no worries if you don’t feel like it, I appreciate you and I hope you have a lovely day!♡

Thanks for requesting! I hope your hand is feeling better lovely <3

cw: blood, mention of razors (unrelated to blood)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 788 words

“Hey, Sirius?” 

Sirius screws the brush of his nail polish back into the bottle. “Yeah?” 

“Are you busy?” 

“Not anymore.” He gets up from the bed, wandering towards your voice in the bathroom. “What’s up, gorgeous? You need something?” 

Sirius stalls when he finds you. You’re standing there with a dissatisfied frown on your face, your hand a basin of blood held in front of you that’s overflowing into the sink. 

“Maybe a ride to A&E?” you ask. “If you’re free.” 

“What the hell happened?” Sirius goes to you. He tries to take your hand, but you move it away. 

“Wait, your nails—” 

“I’m not really worried about my nails right now, babe.” He holds you by the wrist, turning the faucet on to a gentle flow before bringing your hand underneath it. The blood washes away quickly, and Sirius blocks your view of the cut, leaning down to see it. “How’d you manage this?” 

“I was just opening my new razors—” 

“Razors?” 

“It wasn’t even the razors that did it,” you say, a laugh somewhere in your voice. Your raised voices have drawn attention from the rest of the house. Remus and then James appear in the doorway. “It was the plastic it comes in. Surprisingly sharp.” 

“What’s going on?” asks James. 

“She would like to know,” Sirius informs him, “if it’s convenient for any of us to drive her to A&E.” 

You roll your eyes. “Alright, you don’t have to say it like that. I just mean that it’s not so dire, I’m hardly bleeding out.” 

“You might be!” 

“What’d you do, love?” Remus moves forward to see, he and Sirius now clustered on either side of you, each closer to your own hand than you are. 

“She managed to injure herself with plastic packaging.”

“Okay. Again, the tone is a bit much,” you say. 

“Aw, sweetheart.” James’ arms wrap around your waist. He smudges a kiss onto your cheek. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you tell him, audibly softening at the affection, “it doesn’t even hurt that bad, it’s only stinging…” You go quiet. 

Sirius glances back at you, and you’re staring between him and Remus, your hand in your view for the first time. You look suddenly paler. 

“Hey, baby.” Sirius’ voice draws the attention of the other two to what’s happened. He steps in front of your hand again, squeezing up the length of your arm. “You’re okay.” 

“It’s…” You stare at where you had been for a moment longer, then snap your vision to the side. You’re breathing a tad faster. “God, sorry. I feel sort of sick.” 

“Take some breaths, dove, you’re alright.” Remus holds your hand close to his chest, shielding it from your view as he reaches into a nearby drawer for bandages. “We’re just going to stop the bleeding and then take you to A&E, you don’t have to do anything.” 

“All of you?” 

“Why?” James gives your middle a light squeeze. “Are there some of us you’d rather not have there?”

“I knew she had favorites.” Sirius grins. “Cruel. We’re only trying to be there for you, gorgeous.” 

You smile a little bit for their sake. You’re not sure either of them believe it, but James gives you a thankful kiss nonetheless. 

“Keep breathing,” he reminds you, big hand rubbing up and down your abdomen. “You’re really doing so well. I was surprised by how calm you seemed a minute ago.” 

“You should have heard her before you got here.” Sirius squints his eyes at you playfully. “She wouldn’t let me touch her hand because she was worried it’d mess up my nail polish.” 

“Sweetheart,” James laughs, giving you another fond squeeze. “Really?” 

“Priorities, babe,” Sirius chides you. 

“Alright,” says Remus. You feel a kiss on your knuckles, and then he’s turning around, your bandaged hand still held protectively between both of his. “Is anyone going to warm the car, or do I have to do everything?” 

You nod, chastened, and start towards the door, but you’re dragged back by three pairs of hands. 

“I mean anyone not injured, dove.” Remus’ voice is heavy with loving exasperation. 

“See what we’ve been dealing with? It’s a two man job.” Sirius squeezes your shoulder on his way past, presumably going to warm the car. James says something about getting your shoes and follows behind.

You give Remus a woeful look. He tsks, folding you into a hug. “Did you really prioritize Sirius’ nail polish over your bleeding hand?” he asks in a murmur. 

You mush your cheek to his chest. “Only for a minute.” 

Remus is quiet, but his amused breath fans over the top of your head as he brings his lips down for a kiss.

[yusiyomogi]

i think that kui portrayed kabru's mental health issues in a very interesting way, but it's what makes it subtle to some readers. the fact that he seems so functional to the readers, especially in the first few appearances, not to mention that a lot of his problems and symptoms are not obvious and can only be seen in additional materials, seems like an intended choice from the character writing perspective.

the way kui constructs his character centers around the idea of duality. he switches between two "faces" in the story constantly, he uses two speaking styles (and two pronouns indicating them), he's a tallman who lived with elves for a long time and carries both cultures, he's caught in the conflict between long-lived and short-lived races, he's constantly stuck between two choices in his inner conflicts (what to think of laios? should he prioritize preventing another tragedy or taking away power from long-lived races?), he's bisexual. kui also made him a gemini, yknow, a zodiac sign associated with twins and duality.

there's a certain theme in this and it does affect the way we interpret his personality and choices and it goes beyond text, it's metatextual too. it's a sway between what's hidden and what's shown to the readers about him.

the thing is, i think his mental health issues are meant to be downplayed and hidden, because it's true to his character. what do we notice about him in the main story and what's hidden? well, one of the first things we see is that he's not great at fighting monsters, he suffers from ptsd that makes him basically freeze up just from thinking about them. images of dead people turning into monsters, tearing each other apart and eating each other haunt him, making him feel ill from monster food. he downplays this a lot, hides it from other characters, straight-up lies about it, but at least readers got to see it.

with a keen eye you might notice that he doesn't eat enough food, almost never eats anything on-screen. he mentions that he's never cooked food in his life: wait, kabru, don't you live alone? in that sense "don't you wanna eat?" moment reveals two details of kabru's character at once: we got to see his aversion from monster food related to ptsd, but also his inability to notice his own hunger in general. he's strong and he almost always wears armor, but we know that he often dies in the dungeon. the armor hides that he's pretty scrawny for someone who fights physically, again, something that we can only notice after he takes off his armor (symbolism!).

funnily enough, here we have our first glance at this through additional materials: in the info page about the importance of calories and fat, kui mentions that kabru has lost a lot of weight since he started exploring the dungeon, because he died a lot. what it means is that he doesn't eat enough to cover the loss of weight. subtle, but clever detail.

speaking of him not knowing how to cook, this is another clever detail that hides bigger truth: kabru doesn't know how to do chores, he doesn't take proper care of himself. extra materials reveal to us that kabru lives in the basement, lacking light and clean air and he doesn't know how to clean his room or how to iron clothes and simply... never cared to learn? this is mostly omitted from the main story, even if it does have a place for it: for example, his journey with mithrun becomes infinitely more fascinating, when you know how little kabru cares about himself. but since those chapters are told through kabru's pov, he basically "hides" this from the reader, takes control of the narrative in the same way he tells a polished version of his tragic backstory.

he talks about mithrun's story like there's no connection, like he's not literally looking at the dark mirror of himself. and, ironically, he chooses to not be vulnerable in front of the readers just like young mithrun wouldn't. extra materials give us a glimpse again: when in the main story mithrun said "i can't fall asleep without spell or potion", in the extra comic (literally behind the scenes) kabru says "i use alcohol to help me fall asleep". there's a connection and kabru sees it, but he's not telling it to us. (and yes. there's evidence that kabru is an early-stage alcoholic. we can see bottles under his bed and what he says basically imply that he depends on alcohol: he's not using it for recreational purposes, he's using it as a substance to make himself sleepy and, probably, less anxious. when that dependence turns uncontrolled, it often leads to full-blown alcoholism).

bigger connection to mithrun is of course kabru's refusal to accept his own humanity, to see that he's alive, that he has his own needs and desires. he's suicidal in the same way: he can only see his goal, he doesn't care about his life, he only sees the value of his life in relation to that goal and he never think what's gonna happen to him after he reaches this goal (because he unconsciously believes that "the after" wouldn't happen to him). and he doesn't reflect on it, again, until he's met with a question "what do you want to do?". the way he doesn't see himself as alive is omitted again in the big portion of the story and only really comes up in the end, when he asks "what was the point of my survival?", in a basically joking moment.

but we can see it through the symbolism, through his connection to death in the story, through his eagerness to sacrifice his life for the idealistic goal in his mind. and of course, we can see it clearly through his mirror: there's a strong parallel between kabru almost committing double suicide while chasing his goals and mithrun literally getting himself killed while chasing his own.

what i'm trying to say, it's interesting that kabru uses his control of the narrative to hide his own vulnerability from the readers. maybe mithrun sees himself as leftovers and it's something cathartic for him to admit in the end, but kabru really doesn't want you to see that he feels the same way. that he's also "leftovers". but you see, they are standing together in that panel. as kabru continues to try shielding himself from your view, kui puts the mirror next to him, revealing what's hidden.

[backwzzds]

can we talk about how konig would be someone who’s quiet when he gets jealous…then when y’all get home he js absolutely goes HAMMMM….

the way i got so excited to write this…it’s actually way longer than i intended but idgaf! part 2 soon 😏

NO BC YOU LITERALLY WOULDNT GET HOW HE’D BE SO QUIET LIKE ???

“papa, i don’t understand what i did wrong,” you’d frown at your man with an annoyed whine. könig, who was a whooping 6’10 would only give you a heavy grunt in response. you’d be on the way back to his car from the mall, dozens of your victoria’s secret and H&M bags held in his visibly large hand. the moment könig reached before you (with help of his tree-like long legs anyway), he opened the door for you, the balaclava on his face making his features ten times harder.

no matter how mad the big bear was at you—or more so, what you happened to get yourself involved in—he’d never disrespect you. anything other than sexually, at least. stepping on the custom made step for your smaller figure, you slide into the huge seat of his completely blacked out bmw suv, allowing him to shut the door behind you. you nearly jump at the visible shake of the car beneath your bottom.

you play with your curls as könig carefully sets your bags on the floor behind your seat. because his was set all the way back to accommodate for his long legs, your seat had the better amount of space for your things. when könig finally got back in the car, he immediately started it, causing the monsterous growl of his deleted muffler to come alive.

and he wouldn’t even break a sweat at you !!! you’re over here going over all your actions for the day, step by step, and all könig could think through his mind was what positions he was gonna force you in when you two got back home.

the sound of könig’s car matched the energy that was coursing through his veins. he know you didn’t do anything wrong; not intentionally at least. but the selfish ass part of him wanted nothing more than for your pretty little ass to sit in the passenger’s seat, overthinking on what the fuck you possibly could have done to rile him up this much.

the ride home is everlastingly silent as the small of your voice breaks the thick tension, “baby,” you don’t know how to further articulate your words. “i know you’re mad at me. i wanna fix it, but i can’t it you won’t talk to me. and you’ve been dead ass silent since we been in the mall.”

könig keeps his cool, though. he knew his silence was practically eating at you alive, shaming you with guilt for something you didn’t even intentionally mean to do. but with the way your pretty body sits in the black skims dress you’re in, accompanied by your black and white dunks—his eyes could practically frame your nipples right through the see through fabric, and he was sure that fucking doorman at victoria’s secret could have as well.

you keep talking. “was it the dude at VS? i swear, i made it very known that you were my man and—“ your words are endless blabber to him as the disgusting and pervasive thoughts cloud könig’s mind.

he looks so sexy in his balaclava, protecting his face from the harsh upcoming winter temperatures. he’s sported in an all black outfit, helplessly matching yours. anyone who saw you two together would automatically know that was your man. i mean duh, he walks around with his hand on your ass protectively 99% of the time.

when you get the sense that the brute isn’t listening to a fucking word you’re saying, you let out a frustrated sigh and turn your body away from him. but the sudden placement of a large hand on your knee takes you by surprise as you eye the man who’s ice blue eyes refuse to falter from the darkening road before you.

the moment könig pulls up in the driveway of your shared home, you can’t help but twiddle with the polish on your acrylics. anxiousness is bouncing off you, and könig could tell. you turn your head and open your mouth to speak, only to be cut off for the first time that night.

“go inside.” könig’s voice is very low, but you don’t miss the command in it. there’s no emotion behind the dark eyes of his balaclava. usually you could decipher exactly what and how he was feeling, but in the moment—

“kö—“ your boyfriend’s snow blue eyes harden at your talk back. with softer features, you whisper, “will you be inside?”

“soon. need to make a call first,” you watch him pull out a fresh cigar pack. “be ready for me when i get in.” you open your mouth to talk back again, but wire it shut when könig lovingly grabs your face. leaning in so the pink of his lips ghost over your full brown ones, he whispers, “now, mama. i won’t ask again. can you listen to that one thing for me?”

with a small gulp, you give him pretty doe eyes, feeling between your legs tingle at his masculinity radiating onto you. in the most confident voice you could muster up, you nod your pretty head at him. “yes daddy.”

könig gives you a nod of approval and runs his hand along the curve of your ass. “good girl. go on, liebling.”

you exit the huge car, already getting idea of what was to come when könig came back inside. with a heavy heart, you head upstairs to your room and slowly begin undressing, hoping that the slower you went, the more your punishment would be delayed.

your hopes were proven to be false the minute you were completely naked and turned around to see könig leaning against the threshold of the door, silently watching you.

you jump in fear at the sudden sight in front of you, but feel your heart beat calm down when könig strolled over to you. naturally, your head tilted backward as a way to get a full view of his face. his balaclava remained on, so you knew he was still upset about the events from earlier.

könig takes his large hand and rests it on your cheek, giving it a comforting rub. “you know i love you and respect you more than anything on this earth, right?” the brown of your skin instantly heat up at his words as you slowly nod your head at his sudden expression, unsure of where he was going with his words. könig’s lips can’t help but lightly turn upward into a small smile. you had no idea what was gonna come.

“good. because for today, libeling, i’m gonna fuck you like you mean absolutely nothing to me.”

[solxamber]

The Fairest of Them All || Vil Schoenheit

You've chosen Vil!

Navigating the chaos of Night Raven College, you somehow end up stealing the heart of Pomefiore’s untouchable Housewarden.

w.c: 5.3k

1k Masterlist ; Prologue

It’s the night of the opera, and you’re anxiously adjusting your outfit for what feels like the hundredth time. Vil had invited you—Vil Schoenheit, the epitome of elegance and poise—and you’d spent hours ensuring you looked halfway decent next to someone so effortlessly perfect.

When the knock at the door comes, you barely manage to keep yourself from sprinting to open it. And there he is.

Vil stands on your doorstep, dressed in formal wear that could kill a victorian child, his golden hair tied back with precision that seems almost unfair to the rest of humanity. A soft scent of bergamot and cedar follows him, making your brain stutter.

Your jaw goes slack, and you freeze, blatantly staring like a deer caught in headlights. You’re trying to say something, anything, but the only thing leaving your mouth is the sound of air escaping your lungs.

Vil’s lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “Good evening,” he says smoothly, clearly noticing your state. His eyes sweep over your outfit, and he nods in approval. “You’ve done well. You look rather lovely tonight.”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to squeak, still staring. Internally, you’re screaming: What do you mean rather? Lovely?? Have you looked in a mirror recently?!!

He gestures toward the waiting car. “Shall we?”

You nod dumbly, closing the door behind you before following him to the sleek black vehicle parked outside.

The interior of the car is as polished as Vil himself, the soft leather seats and faint glow of the dashboard making it feel like you’ve stepped into another world. You try to focus on the excitement of the opera, but the quiet presence of Vil next to you is making that exceedingly difficult.

As the car glides through the city, your hands brush accidentally, a fleeting touch that sends a little jolt through you. You glance at him, expecting him to pull away or comment, but he doesn’t even blink. If anything, his expression softens, his gaze fixed out the window.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage, and slowly slip your hand into his.

Vil raises an eyebrow ever so slightly, but his grip tightens around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Excited, are we?” he murmurs, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that signature, knowing smirk of his.

You nod quickly, your heart pounding. “Yeah! I mean, it’s my first opera. I don’t want to miss a second of it.”

“Good,” he says, his voice a touch softer. “You’ll appreciate it more than most.” He pauses, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “And… it’s refreshing to share it with someone who isn’t afraid to show their enthusiasm.”

You smile at that, feeling a little less nervous and a lot more giddy.

The grand opera house is breathtaking, its towering marble columns and gilded details glowing under the warm lights. You almost trip on the stairs trying to take it all in. Vil’s hand at your elbow steadies you.

“Careful,” he says lightly, his lips quirking in amusement. “I’d rather not have our evening interrupted by a sprained ankle.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, your face heating up as you let him guide you to your seats.

The opera begins, and it’s as magical as you imagined. The singers’ voices soar, weaving a story so full of emotion you feel like you’re holding your breath half the time. But despite the beauty on stage, you find your attention drifting.

To him.

Vil sits beside you, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the stage lights. He’s transfixed, his violet eyes glittering as they follow the performers. He’s utterly ethereal, and you’re entirely doomed.

When he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, your gaze snaps back to the stage so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. But you can still feel him looking at you, and when you sneak another glance, you catch the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

Your heart does a little flip.

It's time for the intermission and you slowly stretch out your legs.

“Let’s take a walk,” Vil suggests as the lights come up. You nod, following him out of the auditorium and into the grand halls of the opera house.

The murals lining the walls are stunning, vivid depictions of myth and music that seem almost alive under the flickering chandeliers. Vil walks beside you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back to guide you through the crowd.

It’s subtle, effortless, and completely unfair. You’re hyper-aware of the warmth of his touch, the gentle pressure that somehow manages to make your brain short-circuit.

“Relax,” he murmurs, leaning closer so only you can hear. His breath brushes against your ear, and you nearly trip over your own feet. “You’re walking like you’re in a dream.”

“I feel like I am in a dream,” you blurt, before immediately regretting it.

Vil chuckles, a soft, genuine sound that makes your stomach flutter. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He pauses in front of one particularly grand mural, his hand lingering at your back as he studies it. You glance up at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he takes in the artwork.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, though you’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about the mural.

“It is,” he agrees, his gaze flickering down to meet yours. “Though not nearly as much as some things.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by the amused glint in his eyes, he’s thoroughly enjoying your reaction.

The show ends, and you’re still buzzing from the experience as you climb into the car. You hum the aria under your breath, the melody still fresh in your mind.

Vil sits beside you, one arm resting casually against the window as he watches you with quiet amusement.

“You enjoyed it, then?” he asks, though it’s clear he already knows the answer.

“Are you kidding? That was amazing!” you say, turning to him with a wide grin. “I mean, the costumes, the singing, the—”

You stop mid-sentence as Vil leans in, his face so close you can feel the warmth of his skin.

Your heart skips a beat. “W-What are you—?”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. “You’re a mess,” he says, though his tone is far too fond for the words to carry any bite.

He leans back, smirking at your flustered expression. You can practically feel the heat radiating off your face as you bury it in your hands.

Vil walks you to your doorstep, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his features. He looks so effortlessly regal, so infuriatingly perfect, and you know you’re going to be replaying this night in your head for weeks.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, turning to him with a smile. “I had a great time.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he replies, his voice smooth as ever.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you take his hand, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. “Goodnight, Vil.”

You dart inside before you can see his reaction, but as you peek through the curtains, you catch him standing there, a small, genuine smile on his lips.

And just like that, your night feels even more magical.

The evening starts peacefully at Ramshackle, with you sitting on the couch, Grim sprawled on your lap, and a carton of apple juice in hand. The tranquility is shattered by what sounds like a battering ram hitting the door.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“HENCHUMAN!” Grim screeches, bolting upright and scrambling toward the door. “Somebody’s tryin’ ta demolish our house!”

“Calm down, Grim!” you shout, rushing to the door. As you open it, you find Epel standing there, out of breath, his hair disheveled like he’s been running for his life.

“EP—”

“I NEED SANCTUARY!” Epel cries, practically diving inside before slamming the door behind him. “Please, hide me! Don’t let him find me!”

You blink at him, baffled. “What—who—huh?”

Grim squints up at Epel, unimpressed. “What’d ya do this time, farm boy?”

“I didn’t do nothin’! Vil’s gone mad again! He wants me to do some eight-step skincare ritual with somethin’ called snail mucin!” Epel flops onto the couch dramatically. “SNAILS, Prefect. SNAILS. I don’t wanna look like no slimy critter!”

You try to keep a straight face, but it’s impossible. “Epel, you know he’s just trying to help, right?”

Epel grabs a carton of apple juice from the table and downs some of it like it's vodka. “Help? Help turn me into a snail, maybe!”

Grim nods sagely. “Yeah, I dunno what a ‘mucin’ is, but it sounds slimy.”

The atmosphere is almost cozy again as the three of you sit around, sipping juice and joking around. But then it happens.

Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

This knock isn’t like Epel’s desperate pounding. This knock is sharp, precise, and terrifyingly composed.

Grim lets out a dramatic gasp. “IT’S HIM!”

Epel pales. “Don’t open it. Please don’t open it!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you cautiously crack the door open. Sure enough, there stands Vil Schoenheit, looking like he just stepped out of a photoshoot, his expression as serene as a summer lake—but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Good evening,” Vil greets you with a polite smile. “Would you kindly return my wayward dorm member?”

You glance over your shoulder at Epel, who is shaking his head violently and mouthing, “Don’t you dare!”

“Uh,” you begin, already feeling trapped. “I mean… what if—what if he just stayed here for tonight?”

Vil raises an elegant brow. “I see. Is that how it’s going to be?” He steps inside with the grace of a cat, his gaze shifting from you to Epel. “I’m sure you think you’re very clever.”

“Lemme be free,” Epel whines, hiding behind the couch. “I ain’t ready for snails on my face!”

Vil’s smile turns sharp. “Snail mucin is a highly effective hydrator, but if you insist on being dramatic…” He turns to you, his eyes narrowing in thought. “You. Are you willing to try the skincare regimen in his place?”

“Me?” You blink, startled.

Epel perks up from behind the couch. “YES. TAKE THEM!”

Vil tilts his head. “If you’re willing, I’m confident I can achieve better results from a subject who isn’t fighting me at every turn.”

You shrug. “Sure, why not?”

Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, Vil has looped an arm through yours, gracefully pulling you out the door. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

Epel waves dramatically from the window. “Bless ya, Prefect! I owe ya big time!”

Grim just yells after you, “DON’T LET HIM TURN YA INTO A SNAIL!”

Pomefiore is somehow both intimidating and gorgeous at night, much like Vil himself. He leads you to a lavishly decorated room that smells faintly of lavender and something you can’t quite place but know costs more than your monthly groceries.

Vil gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling slightly like a sacrificial lamb.

“This won’t hurt,” he says smoothly, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, sit still.”

You expect him to just slap some moisturizer on your face and call it a day, but no. Vil moves with precision and care, his fingers brushing gently over your skin as he applies cleanser, toner, and a series of serums that feel more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

“This feels… nice,” you mumble, your eyelids growing heavier.

Vil hums, clearly pleased with himself. “Of course it does. Skincare is an art.”

Somewhere between step five and six, you lose the battle against sleep, dozing off in the chair.

You stir awake to find Vil leaning over you, his gaze soft and almost… fond. He’s saying something about your skin glowing, but you’re too distracted by the feeling of being watched so intently.

“Vil?” you murmur groggily.

“Yes?” he replies, his voice softer than usual.

Your eyes narrow slightly as you sit up, noticing something on your cheek. “Uh… did you kiss me?”

Vil freezes for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. His usual composure slips, and he hurriedly swipes at your cheek with a handkerchief. “Don’t be absurd,” he says, but his tone is unusually flustered.

Except.

You glance at his lips, where the faintest smudge of lipstick is visible. “Riiiiiight.”

Vil notices where your gaze has landed and turns away, busying himself with the jars on the counter. “You’re imagining things.”

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. “If you say so.”

But as he ushers you out of Pomefiore with a distracted wave and a faint blush dusting his cheeks, you know you’ve won this round.

The morning starts off with a buzz of activity at the botanical gardens. Vil, ever the professional, has arranged an elaborate photoshoot in the serene greenery. Props were meticulously placed, outfits were prepared, and lighting setups were already stationed. Vil even allowed himself to feel something akin to satisfaction.

That is, until afternoon rolls around.

Unbeknownst to Vil, the chaos trio (Ace, Deuce, Grim) and Jack had wandered into the gardens earlier for what they dubbed “a little harmless fun.” What they actually managed to do was:

Accidentally tip over a giant fountain while trying to see if Grim could swim (spoiler alert: he can’t).

Start a “friendly” game of tag that ended with Ace tripping over a prop table, sending vases and floral arrangements flying like shrapnel.

Release a flock of doves intended for Vil’s grand finale by opening the wrong cage ("I wanted to see if they could do tricks!" Ace insists as Deuce facepalms).

Grim, somehow, set a bush on fire. Jack put it out, but the smell of burnt shrubbery lingers ominously in the air.

By the time Vil arrives, the scene looks like a tornado hit. The once-pristine gardens are a disaster zone. Props are broken, flowers are trampled, and there's a trail of muddy footprints leading in every direction.

Vil steps into the carnage, his designer boots squelching in mud. His expression is eerily calm at first, but the sharp inhale he takes speaks volumes. He surveys the devastation with a look that could wilt the few surviving flowers.

“My vision,” he whispers, his voice tight with suppressed rage.

You stand beside him, trying not to laugh because you’ve never seen him this close to a meltdown.

“Vil,” you say cautiously, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s not that bad—”

“Not that bad?!” he snaps, whirling on you. “Look around! This isn’t a photoshoot location; it’s a war zone!”

From the corner of your eye, you spot Cater peeking in, phone out, clearly recording the unfolding drama. You make a mental note to confiscate it later.

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself, “I should have known better. Trusting anything to others. Utter folly.”

“You’re gonna burst a blood vessel,” you warn him, earning a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“Alright, alright,” you say, rolling up your sleeves. “Stop sulking and help me salvage this.”

Vil blinks at you, incredulous. “Salvage? You can’t possibly—”

“Watch me.”

With that, you march into the chaos. You grab what props can be salvaged, rearrange a few backdrops, and even craft makeshift decorations out of the remaining flowers and ribbons.

Vil watches in stunned silence as you hustle, barking orders at a very confused Sebek, who you dragged out of the equestrian club to help.

“Sebek, I need that saddle cleaned now!” you shout.

Sebek grumbles, muttering something about “desecrating noble horse equipment for frivolity,” but obeys when you glare at him.

Within the hour, you’ve transformed a patch of ruined garden into a new set: a rustic, equestrian-inspired photoshoot featuring horses. Vil looks around, stunned, as you pat one of the horses on the neck.

“Well?” you say, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not the flower themed you started off with, but it’ll work, right?”

Vil stares at you, a strange softness in his eyes. “...It’s perfect.”

The photoshoot goes off without a hitch. Vil looks flawless as ever, draped elegantly across a horse in one shot and holding its reins with regal authority in another. You even manage to convince Sebek to lend Vil his equestrian jacket for a dramatic flair.

As you predicted, the photos break the internet. The combination of Vil Schoenheit and majestic horses sends fans into a frenzy. “A SUPERMODEL AND HORSES??? THE WORLD ISN’T READY FOR THIS!” one comment reads.

But what really goes viral isn’t the official photos. It’s a video Cater secretly took of Vil watching you as you worked to save the shoot.

In the video, Vil stands in the background, holding a bouquet prop. His usual composed expression is nowhere to be seen—he’s looking at you with undisguised fondness, like you’re the only person in the world. The caption?

“The real shoot is happening behind the scenes #VilSmittenheit”

When you show Vil the video later, he groans and buries his face in his hands. “Of course Cater would...”

But you just smile, because even Vil can’t deny the truth caught on camera.

The potionology exam looms like a thundercloud, and you’ve made the questionable decision to study with the first-year gang. It feels like babysitting a tornado of chaos.

You’ve got your notebook out, ready to tackle the mysteries of potion ratios and ingredient compatibility. Then you look up.

Ace, Deuce, and Grim are locked in a heated debate over whether it’s morally acceptable to substitute powdered phoenix feather with breadcrumbs.

“Grim, breadcrumbs aren’t even magical!” Jack groans, rubbing his temples.

Grim huffs, waving a paw dismissively. “It’s got crunch! Everything’s better with crunch!”

“Breadcrumbs in a potion?!” Sebek barks, slamming his fist on the table. “Such idiocy would never occur in Lord Malleus’s presence! Do you know the kind of potions he could make? Far superior to this nonsense!”

Epel, slouched in his chair, mutters, “What’s the point of potionology when you can just punch your problems or fly away?”

“Guys,” Jack says, his patience clearly thinning. “We need to focus! We’re all going to fail if we don’t—”

“I’M NOT FAILING!” Sebek bellows.

“Then stop talking about Malleus for five minutes!” Ace snaps.

You close your notebook. You know when to admit defeat. You’re getting nothing done here.

Plan B: The Vil Schoenheit Method

You march straight to Vil in Pomefiore. He’s seated in his lavish lounge, sipping tea and reading a book on advanced alchemical techniques that makes your brain hurt just by looking at it.

“Vil, help me,” you say, dropping dramatically to your knees like you’re auditioning for a tragedy. “I’m going to flunk potionology, and I can’t rely on Ace, Deuce, or Grim because they’ve got the collective intelligence of a soggy paper towel.”

Vil arches an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And why should I help you?”

“Because you’re the best potionologist I know,” you plead. “And because I’ll owe you one. A big one. I’ll even—” You pause for dramatic effect. “—tell you where Epel is when he runs away.”

Vil narrows his eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, but your desperation is mildly entertaining. Fine. But I won’t go easy on you.”

You gulp.

Vil is intense. He doesn’t just teach you potionology; he micromanages your existence.

“Back straight,” he snaps, tapping your spine with a ruler. “You’re hunched over like a gremlin. And stop stirring like you’re mixing pancake batter. Precision is key!”

You mutter something about gremlins under your breath, but Vil hears it. “I can make this more difficult if you’d like,” he says with a sweet yet menacing smile.

He quizzes you relentlessly, correcting every little mistake with the sharpness of a dagger. “If you confuse Mandrake extract with Mandragora root one more time, I’ll have Rook carry you back to Ramshackle while reciting a poem about your incompetence.”

But by the end of it, you’ve actually learned. You’re tired, your hands smell like sulfur, and your posture is permanently straightened, but you’ve learned.

You ace the exam. You don’t just pass; you get one of the highest scores in the class.

“THAT’S MY HENCHHUMAN!” Grim crows, puffing his chest out like he took the test himself. “We’re unstoppable!”

Ace and Deuce, however, are staring at you like you’ve just revealed you’re a double agent.

“You went to Vil for help?!” Ace squawks. “That’s betrayal! Treason! You’re a traitor to the First-Year Study Group™!”

“You think you know someone,” Deuce adds solemnly, shaking his head.

“It’s not my fault you two were trying to use breadcrumbs in a potion!” you fire back.

“That’s not the point!”

Ignoring their melodrama, you bolt to Pomefiore to thank Vil.

Vil is sitting by the window, gazing out at the gardens with a cup of tea in hand. He looks up as you burst in, all smiles and gratitude.

“Vil!” you exclaim, practically skipping toward him. “I passed! Thank you so much!”

He raises an elegant eyebrow. “Of course you did. I wasn’t about to waste my time on a lost cause.”

You throw your arms around him in a quick, impulsive hug. “You’re amazing, seriously. I’ll thank you properly later, but for now—” You lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

Before Vil can react, you’re already sprinting out the door, leaving him sitting there with a stunned expression.

Moments later, Rook appears, materializing like the cryptid he is. “Ah, Roi du Poison,” he coos, his smile wicked. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

Vil sighs, shaking his head, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Be quiet, Rook.”

“Ah, silence is the language of love!” Rook declares dramatically. “But your face says it all! Mon dieu, how adorable.”

Vil doesn’t even bother denying it. He simply takes another sip of tea, thinking of your smile.

It’s 4 a.m. The witching hour. You’re blissfully cocooned in your blankets, dreaming of peaceful, non-chaotic things, when a sharp tap tap tap jolts you from your slumber. At first, you think it’s your imagination, but the tapping persists, growing louder and more insistent. You crack open one groggy eye, then the other. You blink at the sound’s source.

Your window.

“Window?” you mumble in confusion, still half-asleep. Then you see him. Rook Hunt. Perched precariously on the ledge like some kind of medieval gargoyle but with better fashion sense. He’s waving at you with such enthusiasm you’d think he were auditioning for a cheerleading squad.

Your brain, still booting up, goes: Of course. This is perfectly normal.

Then, a second later: WAIT A MINUTE—WHAT?!

“Rook?” you hiss-whisper, stumbling to the window. “Why are you—” You stop mid-sentence because his face is a mask of sheer panic. “What’s wrong?”

He places a dramatic hand on his chest, his voice trembling with urgency. “Mon amie! It is an emergency of the highest order!”

Heart pounding, you throw open the window. “What happened?! Is someone hurt?! Did something explode?! Is Vil—”

Rook nods gravely. “It is Roi du Poison.”

Your stomach plummets. He doesn’t have to say anything more. If something’s wrong with Vil, you’re going to help. You’re his friend, his confidant, his designated earplug during Rook’s poetic soliloquies.

You don’t hesitate; you grab your coat and shoes and sprint out the door, trailing after Rook, who somehow manages to make a full-on run look like a choreographed ballet.

The journey to Pomefiore is a blur of panic and adrenaline. You’re preparing yourself for the worst. Was Vil poisoned? Did he collapse during some over-the-top skincare ritual? Is it gasp the end of his perfect reign? By the time you burst into Vil’s room, you’re practically on the verge of tears.

“Vil!” you cry, rushing to his bedside. “Are you okay? What’s happening?!”

Vil, propped up against a mountain of silk covered pillows, looks up from his tissue box, pale but undeniably still Vil. His expression is unimpressed, though there’s a faint red tinge to his nose that he’d probably die before admitting to.

“I have a cold,” he says flatly, voice slightly nasal.

You blink. Once. Twice. You slowly turn to look at Rook, who is leaning dramatically against the doorway, one hand over his heart like he’s auditioning for Hamlet.

“A cold?” you echo.

Rook nods solemnly. “Oui! But what is a mere cold to a shining star like Vil? Even the smallest ailment feels like a tragedy!”

Without breaking eye contact, you grab a tissue from Vil’s nightstand and throw it at Rook’s head. He catches it mid-air with a flourish.

“I thought he was dying!” you snap, your voice somewhere between exhausted and hysterical.

Vil sighs deeply, like you’re all inconveniencing him. “Well, I feel like I’m dying,” he mutters, reaching for another tissue with the elegance of a dying swan.

Despite wanting to throttle both Vil and Rook, you stay. Because deep down, you care about Vil (and because Rook is lurking in the shadows, making escape impossible). Armed with tissues, herbal tea, and the resolve of a saint, you declare yourself Vil’s official nurse.

“Do you need anything?” you ask, pulling a blanket higher up his shoulders.

Vil sniffs. “I need… another pillow. This one is too flat.”

You grab another pillow and fluff it to perfection. “Better?”

“No, this one is too fluffy.”

You fight the urge to scream. But you adjust the pillow again. And again. And again.

Moments later:

“This tea is too hot.” You cool it.

“This tea is too cold.” You reheat it.

“This lighting is too harsh.” You dim it.

“This lighting is too dim.” You—wait, what??

For hours, you cater to his every whim with the patience of a saint. Vil complains about the temperature, his blanket, the angle of his tissue box. He’s fussy, demanding, and dramatic, but you take it all in stride.

Why? Because deep down, you know he’d never ask for help unless he really needed it. And because Vil, even at his most irritating, is still someone you care about. Maybe even have a crush on but that's a problem for future you.

Rook occasionally pops in to offer poetic encouragement. You ignore him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Vil falls asleep, his perfect features soft and peaceful. You, however, collapse on the couch in the corner of the room, absolutely spent.

The next morning, Vil wakes up feeling… better. His fever has broken, his headache has subsided, and for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel like his body is actively rebelling against him. He sits up and looks around, finding you passed out on the couch, still clutching a crumpled tissue in one hand.

He notices the dark circles under your eyes, the way you’re curled up in an awkward position, the slight shiver in your frame from not having a blanket. And for the first time, Vil feels something unfamiliar. Guilt. And a deep affection.

As the morning light filters into the room, he glances at you one last time, his expression softening. “Once I recover,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, “I’ll tell you.”

And with that, Vil Schoenheit makes a silent vow. The next time you nurse him through anything, it will be with him as your devoted partner—and not because of a misunderstanding orchestrated by a certain overdramatic huntsman.

It hits you like a truck in the middle of class: you’re in love with Vil Schoenheit.

Not a crush, not admiration—you’re down horrendous. Butterflies are doing pirouettes in your stomach every time he talks to you, and his slightest smile makes you feel like you’ve been hit by a blinding spotlight.

You try denial. (“It’s just his aura. He does this to everyone!”) You try avoidance. (“If I don’t look at him, I can’t fall harder, right?”) But none of it works. Every time he critiques your posture or gives you that sly smirk, it’s game over.

Finally, you give in. “Okay, fine! I’ll confess!” you announce to Grim, who’s lounging on the couch.

“Good luck,” Grim snickers. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I am about to be sick!” you shriek. “This is Vil! What if he laughs? What if he just… stares at me in that terrifying way he does when Epel says something stupid?”

“Then I’ll eat your dinner as consolation,” Grim says, ever supportive.

You prepare like your life depends on it.

Step One: Flowers. You pick out the most gorgeous bouquet, ones that practically scream, I’m hopelessly in love with you, please don’t let me die of embarrassment.

Step Two: A handwritten card. You pour your heart onto the paper with the eloquence of a poet. “You’re incredible,” you write. “Not just because you’re beautiful, but because of your strength, your kindness, and the way you inspire everyone around you. I… I love you.” You almost combust just writing it.

Step Three: Look your best. You pick an outfit that’s just shy of trying too hard and hope it’s enough to make you look like someone worthy of confessing to Vil Schoenheit.

“Alright,” you say, holding your bouquet like it’s a shield. “Here goes nothing.”

“Don’t trip and fall on your face!” Grim calls after you.

You’re halfway to Pomefiore, sweating bullets and trying to remember how to breathe, when you see him.

Vil is walking toward you, dressed impeccably as always, carrying… a bouquet of his own?

Your heart skips several beats, and you’re suddenly extremely nervous—the kind of nervous that makes your palms sweat, your knees weak, and your brain do somersaults. You feel like a malfunctioning automaton.

“Oh,” Vil says, his gaze locking onto you. He stops a few feet away, his eyes flickering between you and the bouquet in your hands. “Out for a stroll?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer, gripping your flowers tighter.

Vil tilts his head slightly, and you swear he looks… annoyed? “And the flowers?” he asks, his tone calm but sharp, like a scalpel. “A gift for someone special, perhaps?”

You freeze. “Uh—”

Before you can answer, Vil’s gaze shifts to the card sticking out of your bouquet. He reaches out and plucks it before you can stop him. Your soul briefly leaves your body.

He reads it silently, his face betraying nothing, until—

“Oh.”

His tone is quiet, and you’re horrified to see a flicker of heartbreak in his expression. “I see.”

“Wait! It’s not what it looks like!” you blurt, waving your hand like a maniac. “The flowers are for you! The card is for you! I just… forgot to sign it.”

Vil blinks, his lips parting slightly in surprise. Then, to your immense relief, he chuckles—a soft, melodic sound that sends your heart into a frenzy. “You forgot to sign it?” he repeats, amused.

You nod vigorously, clutching the bouquet like your life depends on it. “I was too busy panicking, okay?!”

Vil shakes his head, his smile widening. “Of course. Only you would confess in such a manner.” He steps closer, his own bouquet now visible. “It seems we had the same idea today.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he means. “Wait… those flowers…?”

“For you,” Vil says simply. “Though I’ll admit, for a moment, I thought they might be unnecessary.”

You stare at each other, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. Then, Vil takes your bouquet from your trembling hands and replaces it with his own.

“They suit you better,” he murmurs.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, he leans in and presses his lips softly against yours.

The world seems to blur around you, and all you can feel is Vil—his warmth, his scent, the tenderness of his touch. When he pulls back, he’s smiling at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

“Let’s not wait so long to be honest with each other next time,” he says softly.

You nod, dazed and giddy. “Y-Yeah, totally.”

As he intertwines his fingers with yours, leading you back toward Ramshackle, you realize one thing: The first year gang is never going to let you live this down.

But to be honest, you really don’t care. Not when Vil Schoenheit is looking at you like you're the only ones left on the planet.

1k Masterlist ; Main Masterlist

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[hiddenreamers]

F1 Drivers x foreign!reader

SUMMARY: When they know social norms and the local language, sometimes it might be hard to spot a foreigner. Even then, there are details to their daily life that might give away their heritage. Whether they're strange, funny or heartwarming, it doesn't really matter. Your boyfriend wouldn't have it any other way.

Featuring: Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, Daniel Ricciardo (it's my delulu I set the rules), Max Verstappen, Carlos Sainz Jr, Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Oscar Piastri

Note: I'm a Polish gal, so the examples I've used are quite specific and probably not universal

Lando Norris

You're unsure if his terrible pronunciation is genuine or just a ploy to make you laugh. As time goes on, you're leaning towards the latter. The comedic timing of throwing out mispronounced random phrases and words is almost too perfect to be accidental. Considering the cultural differences, you have your quirks and superstitions that are largely funny and meaningless to him. Despite his lack of understanding, he adheres to them like the letter of the law (except speed limits, of course). While it might seem pointless to him that you have to knock on "something unpainted" after talking about misfortune, Lando will never make fun of you for it. He might laugh, yes, but he just finds those little rituals endearing. Secretly learns to say "I love you" in your first language but this time, he wants his pronunciation to be impeccable. He really means it, after all.

Lewis Hamilton

He's been showing genuine curiosity from the very beginning. While he wants to get to know you better as a person, he also wants to know more about your home. Consequently, Lewis jumps at any opportunity to travel with you to your native country. When you're pointing out different buildings as well as memories associated with them, he feels like he's getting a better understanding of who you are and why. Like Lando, he's mindful of the cultural quirks and sticks to them but doesn't find them as funny. While he's well aware you don't expect him to follow them, Lewis still refuses to kiss you over the threshold once you tell him it's said to bring bad luck. He's not going to risk it, is he?

Daniel Ricciardo

The ever-charming man is interested only in learning swear words and pick-up lines in your native language. Not very surprising. Even less surprising is the fact that you might have (on at least one occasion) taught him nonsense or a silly phrase while claiming it's something sexy or romantic. He is yet to be corrected that a certain phrase is not a heartfelt confession but a simple question of "Where is my sauerkraut?". There's something impossibly attractive about you speaking your mother tongue, according to Daniel. You could read aloud a random Wikipedia entry and he's down bad by the second verse.

Max Verstappen

Practical as always, Max has learnt to read your first language just to occasionally help. You're busy and someone is texting you? Maybe you forgot the next ingredient or step for the recipe but your hands are dirty? Max is there to help. Despite not much practice, his pronunciation is really good. He does, however, have a secret. All the random things he's been reading for you? They got him familiar with the language, at least the basics. Still, Max pretends that he doesn't understand 99% of what he's reading for you because he doesn't want to miss out on all the ego-stroking "Max is wonderful!!" messages you receive from friends and family. The king of keeping a straight face. He's so used to hearing you refer to him by pet names in another language that when he hears it in a movie you're watching, he instinctively looks towards you.

Carlos Sainz Jr

Similarly to Max, Carlos has picked up some of your mother tongue. Pretends he doesn't because he's living for the gossip you exchange with your friends. Most of all, he HAS to know what you're talking about after hearing you say his name. Are you happy with him? Does he fulfil your needs? Although each time you're gushing over him, he can't help his curiosity. Carlos might or might not have overheard you talking to your friends about a sexual fantasy and later on used that knowledge to his advantage. But if anyone asks, he doesn't know more than a "hello" in your first language.

Charles Leclerc

Like many multilingual people, you have a habit of directly translating sayings and idioms or just getting confused about which ones work in what language. Funnily enough, Charles unknowingly picked up some of the phrases you use. He realises only when someone gives him a strange look for saying "happy as a whistle". On another occasion he says somebody "stuck to him like thistle to a dog's tail", which sparked a landslide of memes. Charles insists on you calling him pet names in your first language exclusively. He claims they sound more loving when you say them in your mother tongue but maybe he's suffering from the same ailment as Daniel Ricciardo...

George Russell

As adorable as they are, George's random questions can get slightly annoying. He might be working you up on purpose, not that he'd ever admit. This man has a curious tendency to suddenly point to a random object and ask you what's it called in your native language. When you tell him, he exposes you to possibly the worst attempt at repeating the word. George is trying his best, okay? He might not be able to pronounce or write it but when you say it, he quickly learns to recognize the word. This has lead to seemingly strange situations when you can't remember the English expression and say it in your mother tongue, while George without a problem gives you the answer or passes you the item. Some of the other drivers are now convinced he knows your first language and George somehow can't find the right occasion to correct them. After secretly practising, he says "I love you" in your mother tongue and despite the rather awful pronunciation, it's the best thing you've ever heard. It's not flawless but it's perfect.

Oscar Piastri

Similarly to Lewis, he's genuinly curious about your homecountry. The difference is, Oscar is more leaning towards the literature and pop-culture side of things. He has a list of books, poems, movies and plays that are considered important to your homeland. If there are English translations, he'll at least try to read them (on a few occasions he's settled for the cheat sheets and summaries). Multiple times Oscar has talked you into reading the original to him and afterwards claimed that despite understanding nothing, that's his favourite version. Movies, however, he wants to watch with you. It's a cozy date, yes. But! It is also an opportunity to learn more as you have a tendency to pause the film and explain jokes, give broader context or share a fun fact about something on the screen. Through all of that, he learns certain unspoken social rules and superstitions. You tell him he really doesn't have to follow them for your sake when you notice he refuses to put your bag on the floor or switches seats with you if you sit at the corner of the table.

[mediumgayitalian]

Plink.

“Psst, hey! Nico!”

Plink. Plink.

“Nico! You up?”

Plink.

Plink plink plink. Plink —

“What in the world,” Nico hisses, yanking open his window, “is going — oh.” He blinks. “Will?”

Will grins. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he says, voice not nearly quiet enough for someone who is at direct risk of being devoured. “Thought I’d drop by. Can I come in?”

If Nico were smart, he would say no, actually, it’s like four in the godsdamn morning, go the hell back to your cabin. What is wrong with you.

Instead, he says, “We live in the same neighbourhood, dweeb-face, this is a camp,” and opens his window all the way. Will grins at him, wide and glinting in the dark, and yanks himself in head-first, somersaulting onto the floor and staying there, sprawled on the polished marble floors.

“Hi,” he says again, grin shifting into something more crooked.

Nico breaks away, hiding a smile with rolled eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s ridiculous to want to see you?”

“Before dawn? Yes!”

“Aw.” He settles against the ground, tucking his hands behind his head and letting half lidded eyes trace over Nico’s form, over the sleepy shape of him. Nico shivers. “I was awake, you know. I dreamt of you.”

Cool the fresh hell down, Nico screams at his brain. Out loud, he says, “Shut the fuck up,” and ignores Will’s snickering. How dare he, honestly. For someone who gets clowned as often as he does he is not nearly humble enough. Apollonian genes, indeed.

“What, you don’t dream of me?”

When Will lies, his throat swells up and he breaks out in hives. Nico is at the top of the leaderboard for getting the reaction out of him, with Cecil at a close second and Kayla no slouch in third place. Will is highly manipulable. It’s a good time for everyone around (even Chiron, who is, to his own irritation, lumbering behind at spot #42).

Nico, however, has no such holdups. Nor is he inclined, at any point in time, to fluff up Will’s ego, no matter how he looks when he’s cocky. Nico has self control. Mostly. (Well, at times.)

“Of course not. My subconscious would never do that to me.”

“You’re mean to me, di Angelo.”

“You like it.”

Nico watches, fascinated, as Will’s loudmouth snaps right shut; as his face burns sacred cow right in the low light of the cabin, as he squirms.

“Oh,” he says, gleefully.

“Can it, di Angelo —”

“Oh ho ho ho —”

“I’m gonna curse your ass with haiku disorder, do you know what that is, ‘cause I’ll show you, dickhead —”

Nico crouches down and pokes Will hard in the cheek, and he doesn’t even flinch — he just goes redder. Nico guffaws.

“Dude! Have some — dignity, oh my —”

“Shut up! Shut up! You’re so horrible, gods, I am leaving —”

“Oh, come here.” Will is dragged easily from the windowsill, because he is a big fat faker. There are actual claw marks on the infirmary door from the last time Austin brought Nyssa to drag him out.

“I don’t wanna stay where I’m unwanted,” he laments, bouncing on the bed when Nico shoves him. He takes the inch Nico gives him and burrows deeply under the blankets, throwing a melodramatic hand over his eyes. Nico rolls his own eyes, hoping if he rolls then hard enough Will can tell regardless of whether or not he’s looking, and crawls in after him. He makes sure to kick him at least thrice. “I can take a hint, you know.”

“Medical arts were the wrong career path for you. It’s not too late, you know. I’m sure you could shadow Nicholas Cage or something —”

“I am going to kill you with hammers —”

Nico evades gus clumsy attacks with ease, snickering as he pins him to the bed, smirking when he gives up fighting with a huff.

“I’m glad you came when you couldn’t sleep,” Nico says, after a moment for them to catch their breath. “But the point of that agreement is for you to then shut the fuck up and sleep. Here. So.”

“I’m trying,” Will grumbles. “But you’re being mean and it’s crushing my soul. How am I supposed to sleep with a crushed soul?”

“Oh my gods.”

“Okay, okay! Put the pillow away, jeez, I’m sorry. Meanie.”

Nico rolls his eyes again, settling down next to him. Will takes longer to settle, because he’s annoying, but right before Nico is ready to smack the shit out of him again, he calms down, burrowing stilling once he’s turned on his side.

“…Thank you.”

“Whatever, goober. Go to sleep.”

The smile is obvious in his voice. “Goodnight, Nico.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“In the morning can we —”

“Goodnight, William.”

“Okay, okay. Night.” He pauses. “Love you.”

Nico shoved his grinning face into his pillow. “Love you too.”

[linkemon]

Modern AU 1

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other Genshin Impact headcanons can be found here.

This part contains: Kinich, Mualani and Mavuika.

Kinich

✧ One day a dog stuck to him. On his collar he only had the name: Ajaw. Kinich didn't have the heart to throw him out into the rain and that was a mistake. Since then he has never left him. He is always barking loudly as if he wanted to add something to every statement. When Kinich has guests, he locks him in a separate room and fights so that he doesn't get out in a few minutes.

✧ Kinich is studying botany. He's really good at it. Students in his class say he'll do anything for money. The question is how much money are you willing to spend to have him write a crappy assignment for you or beat up a mean guy (that's a rumor going around...).

✧ In his free time he likes to play Minecraft. Pixel blocks have no secrets for him. He'd be happy to play with you if you have time.

✧ He also likes very extreme climbing. He has been to every possible mountain. However, Kinich never takes his friends there. He always goes on such trips alone.

✧ He is a huge Spider-Man fan. When he was younger, he could be caught with his mask on, pretending to shoot webs.

✧ He keeps a large collection of plants in his room but as he himself says, he does not pay much attention to them.

Mualani

✧ Mualani is a surfer. The sea breeze in her hair and the water surrounding her. That's when she feels alive. On the board, she finds both a literal and a life balance. She will very strongly encourage you to try it. There's nothing better than doing what you love with someone close to you.

✧ She believes in trial and error. You'll fall off the big waves many times but once you get the hang of it, you'll never forget her slightly brutal methods. She has a huge amount of enthusiasm. No matter what field you want to start in, she'll always be rooting for you.

✧ No one knows how it happened but one day she met Kachina on the stairwell and they were inseparable ever since. Even though the girl is much younger than her. They are together practically everywhere and everyone thinks they are sisters, even though they are not related by blood.

✧ Mualani works part-time at a beach goods store. She once found used maracas there, bought them and now takes them out at every opportunity to show them off. She rocks every party, dancing with them.

✧ She loves her aunt very much but she is very sickly. Mualani helps her as much as she can in her spare time.

✧ She will never say no to a bonfire by the sea. If you want to please her, all you have to do is organize one.

Mavuika

✧ Born to be a boss. Owner of a large corporation, which she came to own through her own strength and effort.

✧ A motorcycle enthusiast. She loves to ride through the city streets at night. Her fiery hair seems to light up the darkness around her. Mavuika often spends time this way and you have to like it because she will take you for a ride very often. And without a helmet. All you have to do is hold on to her waist tightly.

✧ She often wears her black outfit, even when there is no obvious reason for it, such as driving. She claims that she looks good in it and it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity to collect a few more compliments. Her most famous flirty technique is to gently slide down her black glasses. 100% effective. Or so she claims.

✧ Mavuika has a whole wall in her room full of trinkets that she got from friends and family. Her loved ones have been dead for quite a while, so she's had a hard time in life. Despite this, she still remembers them and looks at things with a smile. She'll happily tell you about the stories that go with them.

✧ She is very strong. There are rumors that in the evenings she fights with people from local gangs and even the mafia. It is not known how much truth there is in this but it is certain that no one wants to mess with her. She repeats that she does not need protection. She is her own best protection.

[fangisms]

If you take requests can you write a fic about draco wanting the reader's attention all day but someone or something something always getting in the way ? Bonus if he gets a lil moody about it too

(Feel free to ignore if a bother tho ♡) :)

bellyaching

A/N: you GUYS i cranked this out in an afternoon, do u understand im OBSESSED with moody draco

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Draco is desperate for your attention, and desperate times call for desperate Slytherins. 1.1k words

Warnings: fluff, very very minor boy angst, slytherin behavior, moody/dramatic draco, established relationship

“Babe.”

It’s hushed, Draco doesn’t want to catch Flitwick’s attention while trying to grab yours. But it’s not easy when you’re seated in the row in front of him, and he’s desperately leaning over his workspace to reach you.

“Baby,” he mumbles, and you glance over your shoulder with a start. Then, smiling, you wave, and he’s soothed for just a moment. You turn back around and he’s practically pouting. He taps your shoulder with the paper rose he had so painstakingly folded for you. He’s got the paper cuts to prove it.

Draco taps your shoulder with the stem. You turn your head and hold one finger to your lips. You shushed him. You shushed him. He settles back in his seat, arms folded over his chest, wilted paper rose forgotten on his desk.

…

After class, you’re walking beside him, arm happily tucked within his as he escorts you to your Advanced Mythology lesson. Though he’s feeling a little deflated, having you near makes him feel better. And realizing that you’ve got a few minutes to spare before next class, he pulls you to the side of the hall, abandoning his friends to walk ahead.

Tucked beneath one of the awnings, he holds your books beneath his arm and pulls you closer.

“Draco!” you yelp, resisting his onslaught of hurried kisses, “We have class, remember? It’s that thing we are required to attend five days a week? We learn a lot of subjects? Sometimes they give us lunch hour—?”

“We’ll have plenty of time to get to class,” he huffs, pecking your bottom lip and the apple of your cheek.

“Draco, you’ve been late to nearly all of your classes because of—”

“Not because of you. I am solely responsible for my tardiness—ow!” You pinch his side and giggle when he slumps into your shoulder—“‘S not fair you’re so kissable.”

You roll your eyes and press your lips to the side of his sad face, “fine. You can have one kiss. Make it quick.”

At that, Draco perks up. You playfully pucker your lips, and as he leans in—You’ve got to be kidding.

“There you are! Come on, we’ve only got five minutes to get to class, and I’d rather not be forced to polish anymore silver!” Pansy grabs you by the crook of your elbow, dragging you out into hall. You wave at Draco and quickly catch up with Pansy.

For Merlin’s sake, is he not allowed one moment alone with his beloved.

…

The rest of the day goes just as smooth. As in not smooth at all. As in Draco’s day has been a complete shit show, and you’ve been otherwise occupied for just about every second of it.

First, he face plants during a scrimmage. Then, you tell him you’re using the afternoon to study with the girls in the library. You said he’s welcome to join but he knows that means he would be the only male attending and, therefore, it would be excruciatingly awkward.

Suffice to say, he’s spent the last few hours sulking and moaning to himself. Enzo thinks it’s hilarious.

When you finally sit next to him at dinner, he’s still stewing in his anger. Yes, it’s gotten to anger.

“Good evening, dear Draco!” you coo. And he’s clearly not having it, picking away at his food and only acknowledging you with a curt huff. You look to Theodore in shock, eyes wide when he shrugs.

“He’s been like this all day,” Mattheo says, “Think you could be a dear and fix him for us?”

You look over at Draco, who’s taken to scowling at the two boys. So you brush his hair out of his face and flatten his hood against his back.

“What’s wrong? I feel like I haven’t seen you all day?” you say, tilting your head. He huffs.

“I think you mean you’ve been ignoring me all day.”

“Draco!” you say, surprised by his sudden volume and honestly amused by his apparent lack of awareness. “What’s with the attitude?” He doesn’t respond, so you cross your arms over your chest. At this point, you’ve got the entire Great Hall’s attention. And winner for most dramatic couple goes to… “Come on, Draco, don’t just sit there and sulk, talk to me!”

“Oh, now you want to talk? Are you sure? Maybe you should go and study with your friends or read a book or do anything other than ask me how my day has been,” he whines. Enzo can’t help but snicker.

Your jaw drops, and you mumble, "Lower your voice, drama queen, I’m—"

“No, I’ve been trying to spend time with you all day, and you just shrug me off and find something better to do! What if I wanted to walk you to class and study with you?”

“We can still study together this week.”

“That’s not the point, babe. I wanted to spend time with you today,” he says, defeated and back to prodding at his meal tirelessly.

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I had no idea”—you list his hand from the edge of the table and fit your fingers gently between his own—“I didn’t mean to starve you of attention. How careless of me.”

Draco presses his thumb against your hand, and he just barely turns his head to look at you.

“You’re teasing me,” he huffs. You look down at your hands and smile.

“A little,” you say, “But I am sorry. I should have listened to you. And asked you about your day. How was it by the way?”

“Ate complete shit out on the pitch. Found out I’m too needy for my girlfriend. Other than that, just peachy.”

“Draco,” you whine, pouting and cupping his face. “I’m sorry. And you’re not too needy for me, I’m just a bit daft.”

He shrugs, trying not to smile so wide and failing. Just happy to have you near him again.

“Oh, I have something for you”—he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the floppy rose—“Made it in charms.”

You hold its fragile, wrinkled frame in your cupped hands, frowning at it then at him.

“You made this for me?”

“Yeah. And it says ‘you look pretty’ on the inside, but I think if you try to unfold it, it’ll actually disintegrate,” he says.

You lean in swiftly for a kiss, but pause on the way.

“You two? Look away,” you grumble at Theo and Mattheo, snapping a spell against both of their cheeks. They wince and apologize, and Draco snickers.

He kisses you, tugging at your open robe and smiling against your lips when you reach for his other hand.

masterlist

[shitsndgiggs]

Can y write Kenan and YN is dating secretly, and when she goes to an event with him as a plus one a girl tries to flirt with kenan infront of her

SILENT CLAIM - KENAN YILDIZ

A girl tries to flirt with Kenan at an event

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The soft hum of chatter and the occasional clink of glasses filled the air as we stepped into the grand event hall.

Kenan’s hand briefly brushed against mine before he tucked it back into his pocket, a small reminder of the secret we were keeping.

Dating Kenan was like living in a bubble—beautiful and exhilarating but fragile. For now, we were just Kenan and me, no public scrutiny, no flashing cameras dissecting our every move.

That’s why I’d agreed to come as his plus one tonight, to be by his side without really being by his side.

“Stay close,” he murmured, leaning in just enough so only I could hear. His warm breath sent a shiver down my spine, but I kept my expression neutral.

“I always do,” I replied softly, catching the faintest smile tug at his lips before he turned to greet one of his teammates.

The evening was polished and glamorous, and I stayed in the background, sipping champagne and letting Kenan navigate the social scene with his usual charm.

Every now and then, his eyes would find mine across the room, a silent check-in that made my heart flutter.

But it wasn’t long before someone decided to disrupt the harmony.

I was chatting with a few people near the edge of the room when I noticed her—a tall, striking woman who had zero hesitation as she sauntered up to Kenan.

Her hand lightly grazed his arm, and she tilted her head, flashing a smile that was just a little too bright.

My grip on the champagne flute tightened as I watched the scene unfold.

“Kenan, right?” she said, her voice carrying just enough to reach where I stood. “I’ve been meaning to introduce myself. You’re even more impressive in person.”

Kenan’s polite smile didn’t falter, but I noticed the slight shift in his stance, like he was preparing to deflect whatever was coming next. “Thanks,” he said simply.

She stepped closer, ignoring the space that etiquette usually demanded. “I was thinking, maybe we could grab a drink sometime? You could tell me all about your training routine.”

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to stay calm. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone try to get Kenan’s attention, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. The difference was, tonight, I couldn’t step in.

Kenan glanced briefly in my direction, his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place—an apology, maybe? Then he cleared his throat. “I appreciate it, but I’m good.”

“Oh, come on,” she pressed, her tone playful but insistent. “Just one drink. I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Before I could think better of it, I stepped forward, my heart pounding. “Actually, he’s busy tonight,” I said, my voice calm but firm.

Both of them turned to look at me. Kenan’s lips parted slightly, caught between surprise and amusement, while the woman raised an eyebrow, clearly sizing me up.

“And you are?” she asked, her tone dripping with condescension.

I gave her my most polite smile. “His plus one.”

Her expression faltered for a split second before she recovered, laughing lightly. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”

Kenan, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. “Now you do,” he said, his tone carrying just enough edge to make his point.

She muttered something about needing to find her friends before walking away, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Kenan turned to me, his eyes glinting with both gratitude and amusement. “Didn’t know you were coming to my rescue tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You looked like you could use a little help.”

He grinned, stepping closer until the space between us practically disappeared. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

I shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant even as my cheeks warmed. “She was annoying. Someone had to say something.”

Kenan chuckled, his hand brushing against mine again, this time lingering for a moment longer. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

I glanced around, making sure no one was paying us too much attention. “I’m not used to playing the secret girlfriend,” I admitted.

His smile softened. “I know. But soon, I promise.”

“Soon,” I echoed, though the word felt heavier than I wanted to admit.

Kenan’s eyes searched mine, and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fade away. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that was just for me.

“For what?”

“For being here. For putting up with all of this.”

I smiled, the tension in my chest easing. “You’re worth it.”

Kenan’s expression shifted, something unspoken passing between us. He nodded slightly, as if to seal a silent agreement.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice low but insistent.

“Don’t you have people to impress?” I teased.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “The only person I want to impress is you.”

[sukunasweetheart]

That schoolboy sukuna art you reblogged got me thinking🤔its a bit basic but still😵‍💫 tsundere bully!sukuna being so mean to popular!reader cause he likes her‼️ Anytime one of his friends suggest that he likes her, he gets 10x meaner. Meanwhile reader genuinely thinks the dude that just tore up her homework HATES her. Then one day he goes too far and really embarrasses her so she starts crying while her friends try to comfort her (he threw dirty water on her or something🤷‍♀️) Obviously readers had enough of him so she confronts him the next time they see each other alone, only for that dude to end up blurting out how much he likes her. Readers standing there flabbergasted😦🧍‍♀️ and then tells him off (he deserves it💀) . They dont see each other until their highschool reunion 5 years later(?) Sukunas matured alot but of course readers still hesitant to even talk to him. Blahblahblah he apologizes, reader forgives him after they hang out a few times and then BOOM dating‼️

This was such a anticlimactic end but i hope you get what i mean. Reader doesn't start liking him until monthsss after the reunion. Sukuna still seeing her as his first love/crush except he's not a weirdo about it anymore. And cause he probably just threw all his focus on taking over the family business (this is canon gege told me)

Literally i lowk fw this idea sooo hard... like childhood bully that grows up around you, little sukuna has always been a harrassing you ever since youve moved into the neighbourhood, and it carries over into highschool as well...

Its like, to the point where you have personal beef with him, always ready to square up when he's around...

but the fact that he never has his lackeys with him when he does bully you, and the one time someone did try to give you some silly treatment while he was watching, he gave him the beating of his life behind closed doors...

Sukuna having silly wet dreams of you and then being extra mean the next day. You retaliate physically, giving dainty little punches and kicks, you know, the kind that does zero damage, but for some reason he backs off easier than usual that day and walks away, muttering something under his breath, something that you can't quite hear clearly.

after all those years of pretending to hate you by calling you names and teasing you relentlessly, sukuna has the gall to confess right after graduation. he just blurts it out kind of accidentally, in the spur of the moment, because he feels like it'll be his last chance to ever come true with his feelings.

except, he ends up getting the scolding of his life, as you tell him off for the pestering way he's treated you, only for him to turn around and tell you he has feelings for you?! you tell him that it was cowardly of him, and he should take this as a lesson to treat the people he likes better, before turning on your heel and leaving him in the dust. you're his first love, and also his first heartbreak.

couple of years later, there's a highschool reunion happening, and although you wanted to avoid it because of the awkwardness of having to meet sukuna, you still ended up going because you really miss your old highschool friends.

you're at a nice restaurant with your buddies, enjoying your time, yet also noticing sukuna's missing presence in the back of your mind... you probably think he's not coming to avoid you. not that you care for it.

things were going smoothly, but then he eventually did show up. late to the party, as if he were the protagonist... everyone goes silent for a moment when he shows up, because he's arguably changed the most out of you all...

the rather bold tattoos done all over his body, piercings, and the black nail polish, how much he's bulked up in muscle. and that black button-up shirt is... well, very erotic. no longer that awkward, juvenile teenager you've always pictured him as. sukuna was never ugly per se, but goodness, this kind of glow up was really unexpected. and it turned out that he ended up taking over his family business, which kept him quite busy the past few years.

you catch his eye for a moment across the table, but you quickly look the other way. maybe he might've gotten hotter over the years, but you're not sure about that damn personality of his.

it seemed like he was finding it difficult to approach you in front of everyone else - he chases after you only when the meeting is over, and everyone had begun to go home. you feel a little nervous about the encounter, but the first thing he does is apologise, which gets you feeling a lot better about him as a person. sometimes, time does change a person.

and then sukuna tells you he wants to take you out for a meal, and asks you for your number... your old, easygoing self takes over for a moment. certainly a meal or two wouldn't hurt, would it?

(sukuna goes home and starts kicking his feet in bed that night, after scoring your number - beginning his lovesick era.)

[jhuzen]

terms of service [m.reader]

what do you mean it’s been a whole week since i said i’d post this? pretty sure today is still tonight. anyway, this is based on this godly ask! this is… extra long. i’m sorry i got carried away 😭 it’s honestly going to be a lot longer if i didn’t cut out some scenarios. jadiksodc.

𖦹 nsfw, top reader, virgin haitham i literally have no idea what else to say.

“Have you ever even gotten laid?”

Alhaitham’s eyes stopped at the last sentence of another book he’s buried his nose into. The night was quiet — save for the sounds of the burning embers from the campfire as well as the snores of one tiny fairy that laid beside you. The nights are cold in the desert, but it sure was enough to keep him awake. He’s been searching for ways to solve the problem with the suspicious Grand Sage, and you were kind enough to help.

You were revered across all lands apparently — even reaching the isolated Inazuma before the vast Sumeru in the first place. And while Alhaitham has every confidence in his own knowledge and meticulously calculated strategies in solving problems, he wasn’t one to take away credit from you, who protected him and fended off any other Eremites that tried to cut off his plan.

He found you reserved, keeping to yourself while the tiny floating chatterbox spoke for you like she was your advisor. You did find yourself talking to him at times, but most of it was either your agreements in his plans, your little snide remarks when he did something that both you and your flying companion considered as remotely pretentious. And quite frankly, he did not want to expend any form of effort to defend himself. If that’s how he came across to you, then so be it.

However, even with the limited time that he’s known you, he never pegged you for someone this… sheer.

In fact, he never expected it so much that he even did his own version of a double take, looking up at you with eyes that brimmed with curiosity and slight surprise. And yet, there you were, casually polishing your sword so diligently, tongue sticking out in determination with your brows furrowed in concentration.

Like you never asked him such a… question.

The scribe had half a mind to ignore your sudden query — chalk it up into a auditory hallucination and continue on with his reading. But his mind knew better; that if he left it at that, he would be perturbed until the end of his days, and Alhaitham is a practical man, meaning he’d rather get the trouble you suddenly placed on him out of the way than go through such feelings.

“Pardon?”

“Hm?”

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes, were you now planning to pretend like you never asked the question in the first place? He cleared his throat, “You said something. And I think I misheard. Care to repeat?”

Your gaze met his before blinking, “Oh. I was just asking if you’ve even ever gotten laid in the first place,” you laughed while you turned back to your well-groomed sword, continuing to polish it with refined movements. “Sorry, it’s an out of the line question, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he curtly replied, but even he could not extinguish the sudden curiosity that rose from him. “Though why even ask me that question seeing that you’re fully aware the invasive nature of it in the first place? What spurred this on?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing much, really. It’s just that you’re good looking but you seem to be the type to not… invest your time in those activities.” Alhaitham wonders where all that cutthroat honesty goes every time you go radio silent within the last few days, barely letting out a peep to talk to anyone while Paimon did the talking for you.

Alhaitham scoffed nonetheless. It was such a shallow reason for you to ask that. Surely pure aesthetics is not a prerequisite to have sex. “Is it a requirement to engage in such activities if I am pleasing to look at?”

Your lips turned up in a cheeky smile as you tore your eyes away from your blade, looking up at the stoic scribe with a mischievous mirth glinting through your eyes, “Well. You eat with your eyes too, right?”

A laugh escapes from your system when Alhaitham instantly made a face. He’s not stupid (far from it really, and the entire Akademiya knows) — he knows the preconceived notions to these play of words. He reeled back at the innuendo, partly taken aback. Just what on earth have you been thinking despite your persistent silence to come up with something as crude as that?

He composed himself, eyes averting from yours and looking back down to resume his reading; but his mind was far from the focus he always maintained when occupied with books.

Alhaitham chewed on his bottom lip discreetly before giving an answer he deemed relatively satisfactory, “…I have no interest for such things. And don’t things like these need to have prior connection in the first place? I’d rather not have attachments to someone. It’s far too bothersome.”

“Oh so that’s why,” you hummed, this time your attention fixated in refining your sword handle. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to experience new things. And I can even help you. No strings attached.” You offered in a light jest, followed by a chuckle after.

It was a joke offer, of course. You of all people knew that when Alhaitham didn’t want something, he will steer clear from it. However, you only found him remotely interesting because he was so bloody shady in the first place. He was supposed to be an honorable scribe, being held at such a high position, and yet he was dubious enough to even make you buy forbidden cans of knowledges, and even with the partnership you’ve got going on now, you’d find yourself unable to sleep so freely without so much as expecting him to suddenly jump on you.

You simply found him interesting. And true to your love language (that your little traveling companion is often the recipient of), you couldn’t help but tease him, a little prying at something as intimate and private as his sex life (which you now knew to be nonexistent). Just a little jest to mess with him for your entertainment. That’s all.

However Alhaitham had much different perception to your lighthearted teasing. You… were offering him something so intimate as sex with no strings attached. While anyone with a right mind could quickly brush it off as a mere joke with no promises — Alhaitham was quick to entertain the thought of doing it with you without having to suffer the consequences of being in a relationship with someone.

No strings attached, huh. He pursed his lips, eyebrows knitting a little as he mulled over what seems to be an option (though there never was as it was only a joke from your end).

The thought enticed him. Of course, he was doing this for academic purposes and to satisfy the now insatiable curiosity that you placed upon him like an irreversible curse with one specific cure.

He stole a glance from where you sat as he recalled the many times you’ve managed to smooth talk your way into certain situations back in Port Ormos. Exuding confidence and sharp wit, along with a charming face that no one can say no to — also with your… beliefs earlier, Alhaitham was quick to deduce that you are a man whose had plenty of experience in sex. You were most definitely the kind to frolic around with anyone that suits your fancy, especially with how easily you offered to help him like it’s a simple favor from a colleague and nothing more.

The silence that engulfed your group (again, subtracting the snores from Paimon) soon broke when Alhaitham decided to go head in for the kill.

“Okay.”

“What?”

There was a sense of satisfaction that flooded his system when you looked up with a confused look on your pretty face.

Alhaitham cooly brushed off the flustering feeling that slowly nestled into the pits of his stomach, his stomach knotting in anticipation at the thought of taking you up on your generous little offer, “I agree to what you’re offering,” he refused to look at you, continuing to read the words that were barely coherent in his mind now, trying to look as composed as possible. “Just to satisfy certain questions from this sort of activity of course.”

You tilted your head at him, cocking an eyebrow, “Right… so you want to have sex?”

He coughed, “For research purposes.”

“If I had a mora for every time I heard that excuse, I wouldn’t worry about Paimon’s endless appetite by now,” you laughed. “But knowing you, you’re probably telling the truth.”

You were met with a silence from the scribe. Make no mistake however, he was stewing in absolute embarrassment — only glad that his headphones were able to cover up his ears that are sure to be burning up a bright red hue.

“…Are we doing it now?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, “Absolutely not. We have a mission, traveler. And doing such a thing outside… is sure to provide a less than stellar experience.”

You huffed out a laugh before stabbing your blade on the ground, “Man, you really are a virgin. And you have no idea how many freaks are out there that can do it outside even in the midst of a thunderstorm.” It was an exaggeration, but the look of mortification that was plastered on Alhaitham’s usually unfazed face was all the more entertaining. “Anyway, if you’re really serious, then who am I to back out? We’ll finish up this mission quick and then you can ring me up any time.”

Alhaitham could only give a strained nod before finally finding the words on his pocketbook a little more understandable as his mind cleared.

The last grueling days was nothing short of eventful, to say the least. You were somehow able to pull off in fighting an all too big of a god’s body with the vengeful puppet inside. You freed Nahida too, kicked Azar off of his position and destroyed the beloved Akasha that the people of Sumeru found themselves completely dependent on. It was like a blur, with you constantly on the run to ensure that every plan works in your favor, though you weren’t one to take away from Cyno and the rest — with their dutiful cooperation.

And now, you were hailed as a hero in Sumeru much like your past adventures in the last three nations, awarded as Buer’s first Sage added in the roster of your many, many titles. You were celebrated around and all you’ve ever wanted was to go inside your beloved teapot and sleep.

And that you did.

The next days were spent in leisure around Sumeru, getting along with anyone in the vicinity, often offered goods for gratitude. Paimon accepted every single food and you soon found yourself in need to build another display bedside table to decorate with trinkets you’ve received. It was relatively normal for you at least.

And the same could be said for Alhaitham. He can finally do his job with little to no inconvenience now that Azar and his corrupted lackeys aren’t around, banished off to the forests to do whatever is needed to compensate for their misgivings. The boring but doable work on a high pay returned and Alhaitham was at peace.

Up until Lesser Lord Kusanali came to his office, and with the tiny pitter patter of her feet against the cold floors of Akademiya, she walked to his desk with an expectant smile plastered on her adorable face.

Suddenly, Alhaitham was the Acting Grand Sage.

Great. More work for a considerably smaller increase in pay. How… productive and worth it.

And perhaps, that’s how you landed yourself in the confines of Alhaitham’s home in the dead of the night — at his request. His roommate was off and a few days prior after suddenly getting dragged into assisting him in catching another unhinged research with far too much talent yet little intent in seeing the bigger picture, he had asked you to come meet him at night. And he made it very clear to you that you come alone.

You were already aware of the Acting Grand Sage’s insinuation at this point. You’ve been through enough worlds and mingled with enough people to know the universal sign that is “come here alone tonight”.

Well, either you get laid, or… you will be laid in a coffin the next day.

Now here you sat, smiling a little as you sipped some water, watching Alhaitham dry off the droplets of water from his hair after a late night shower. You opted to look over some files strewn across the table to entertain yourself, trying to make sense of any of his work. Judging from the complicated nature of said paperwork, you figured he was already raring for some release. Or at the very least, a change of pace in learning something new other than the onslaught of mad researchers from Akademiya causing trouble for him to fix.

“I have some terms,” Alhaitham suddenly voiced out, pulling you out of your trance as you looked at him inquisitively. You nodded, letting him go on. “Nobody gets to hear a word of what will transpire tonight.”

“…I don’t think I even want anyone to know in the first place.”

He nodded before walking back to some shelves, “Also,” he grabbed a book and tossed it on the table, perfectly sliding towards you with the cover face up. “I’ve done some reading just to know what to expect.”

You huffed out a breath, disguising a genuinely amused laughter. Couldn’t your one night stand get any cuter? He wasn’t even trying too. He was so earnest and so serious, it was hard not to devour him right then and there. You placed your glass of water down the table sauntering up to him, grabbing the lecherous book that he apparently used to come into the battle prepared.

Alhaitham’s eyes widened as you wasted no time in closing the gap. His ears effectively reddening in a split second when he could feel your crotch rub up against his from the sheer proximity that you and the scribe had. There was even barely any room to breathe in the first place. His lips quivered a little as he looked to the side, avoiding your piercing gaze.

You tapped the corner of the book’s spine on his lips, while yours turned up in a sly grin, “Cast aside any expectation that this book have taught you, smart guy. I believe there is merit in learning from experience.” You tossed the book back as your lips latched onto the skin of his neck. You took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant scent of his body wash. You could feel and hear him shiver from just that action alone, spurring you on to be bolder.

Of course Alhaitham knows that experience is a far better teacher than anything else. But how could he learn anything when the experience itself is detrimental to his sanity as he tried to comprehend your ministrations, from the way your hands were quick to attach themselves onto his narrow waist, your lips slowly mapping and conquering every inch of the skin of his neck, abused with bites that left bruises darker than the decorative rugs in his home.

You pulled away and he was left completely red, you leaned back to admire the work you’ve done on his neck and his collarbone, adorned with splotches of red from the abuse of your mouth.

But before Alhaitham could even recover, you went back in, but this time with your lips on his, “Try to keep up, smart guy. Here’s a crash course on how to kiss someone.”

Alhaitham could barely breathe, but even in the sweet suffocation, he tried to keep up with your lips. You made a mess out of him, your mischievous tongue dragging from the inside of his mouth to his lips to wet them. His jaw hurt and he was out of sorts, with drool dripping down to his chin while you sucked on his tongue, your hands under around his chin to keep him in place. He could only grab onto your shoulders, fingers squeezing against your flesh so tight while he closed his eyes shut, his chest heaving from the breathlessness when you refused to let up on him.

It was already dizzying — he knew you were aggressive on the battlefield, but had he known that you would be like this too, a little warning would’ve been nice.

And before he knew it, still with your lips latched onto his, he started to respond to your advances. Miraculously even with his clouded mind with that lusty haze, he was able to learn from your little techniques, kissing back with need and urgency, and you gladly welcomed him, letting him bite your lip as a test, return the favor as he sloppily sucked your tongue off with the charm of an inexperienced kisser.

It was a mess as you and him stumbled over to the his bedroom, with poor Alhaitham barely noticing until his back landed on the soft mattress of his bed. His eyes were glossed over, clearly in a daze as you pulled away, chuckling at the sight of the infamous stoic scribe who normally looks so put together come undone and become a complete mess with just a simple make out session.

You swiped a thumb over his wet lips, dragging it across his cheek and watched in delight when he slowly gained a bit of clarity.

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet, ‘Haitham.”

Alhaitham only scoffed, “You kiss so aggressively. A warning would’ve sufficed.”

“Aw c’mon. It’s just a little warmup,” you tugged into the hem of his shirt and he quickly got the hint, helping you take them off. You only watched in fascination as his body came into view. That tight shirt that he always wore doesn’t do his body justice. He was sculpted so perfectly that even you had to pause for a second to take in his beauty.

The scribe wasn’t fond of your ogling however, “…What?”

“Nothing… it’s just…” you couldn’t even resist the way your hands immediately gravitated towards his chest, palms flat against his pecs before steadily moving them to yours, comparing your sizes. “…Wow. You’re bigger than I am.”

“Do I get a trophy for that then?” Alhaitham quipped without missing a beat.

Unfortunately for him, you were quick-witted, cruel, and knew how to show someone a good time. And you gladly indulged his little jest as you bent down, cupping a hand around one chest, thumbing at his hardening nipple while you gave soft kitten licks on his other swollen bud. An electric feeling jolts through Alhaitham’s system and he could feel himself twitch against the restricting fabric of his pants.

You smirked against his skin, teeth grazing his sensitive nipple, making him jolt and grab onto the back of your head. You raised yourself, watching unabashed while Alhaitham tried to cover up his reddening face. Either this situation was embarrassing enough on it’s own or perhaps he was embarrassed that he liked what you did.

“D-Don’t… look at me like that,” came Alhaitham’s weak protest, voice shaking as he tried to avert his gaze.

“Getting all shy now?” You tilted your head, looking at him with so much amusement. You did not have an ounce of regret for offering jokingly in the first place. To see the hardheaded scribe fold like a shy maiden was something you never knew you needed. “Come now, Alhaitham, it’s not something to be ashamed about. Focus up, buddy. You said this is for research.”

“Quit… i— ah~! Quit it—!” He moaned in between hisses as you shifted your position, with one knee pressing up against his erection with much pressure. It was as if the soft spoken yet courageous hero revered across the lands suddenly disappeared — replaced by this mischievous teasing deviant that toyed with him so shamelessly.

“You make it so easy to tease you,” your hands slowly dragged themselves to the waistband of his pants, tugging at the band and snapping it against his skin. “Is this why our scribe— oh, sorry, our Grand Sage has to keep that no nonsense facade? So they won’t know that you’re just an adorable little boy?”

He clutched onto your wrists that threatened to free his cock from its constraint, “It’s Acting Grand Sage… and it’s not a facade— are you always this chatty when having sex with someone?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you,” you flashed him a grin and his grip on you slowly loosened, a wordless green light to finally see all of him. You obliged his little permission, tugging down his pants and stripping them off of him with little effort. Alhaitham made a subconscious effort of trying to shield himself from your prying eyes — never had he felt this vulnerable before, he could feel his entire body heat up just from the way you looked at him.

Meanwhile you were admiring every groove and curve that sculpted itself into this man’s body. You would most definitely be the envy of the entire Sumeru City had they known that you were the first man to have ever seen Alhaitham this way. Suddenly, the Acting Grand Sage’s term of not wanting anyone else to know about this engagement seemed so tempting to break.

You positioned yourself in between his legs, keeping them apart when Alhaitham so much as tried to close his legs on instinct, you cupped a hand around the base of his cock and relished in the tiny little yelp that left Alhaitham’s mouth, his back arching up in surprise.

“Already so hard, you truly are enjoying this,” you taunt, as if you weren’t feeling the same uncomfortable feeling in your tightening pants. With one hand, you dug into the pocket of your trousers, bringing out a packet of slime condensate and tearing it open, squeezing a handful on your fingers. “I think you know what this is for.”

Alhaitham only nodded, suddenly meek as the insinuation made its presence known. He read a lot for the sake of satiating the gnawing anticipation within him the moment he agreed with your little offer. Alhaitham, after all, never did nurture the bad habit of coming into a situation completely clueless and in the dark. But there was something far more dizzying at the feeling of your touches that could make him feverish, overtaking his senses like a fever dream that he could feel the whole way.

He shivered as your fingers pressed against his rim, drenched in cold lubrication. He lifted his hips out of instinct, his body slowly being compliant to your actions, readily following your bold lead. You took note of his actions, watching the way his chest heaved up in a frantic pace, clearly overwhelmed in anticipation.

“Try to relax,” you ought to soothe his anxieties. Sex isn’t something to be afraid of, after all. It’s meant to be enjoyed by the parties involved. He only nodded, a little strained but it was enough.

An uncharacteristic wail leaves Alhaitham’s mouth as you plunged two fingers inside him. He was warm, his walls already clenching around your digits that were barely even halfway inside. He shifted, hips wriggling at the discomfort. You distracted him from the sensation and slowly worked your other hand around his erection, pumping at a gentle pace.

Alhaitham felt breathless, the haze in his mind continuing to muddle any form of coherent thought that he tried to make. He whimpered quietly as the embarrassment slowly flooded in. He could barely gather himself as you’re jerking him off while fucking him with your fingers, any sense of awareness leaving him bit by bit, replaced with the unencumbered lust that you were holding over him with your ministrations.

“Feels good?” Your words barely registered in his usually sharp mind. He nodded frantically, hands clutching the sheets underneath him. It felt all too good, with your precise hands, from the way you prod around his gummy walls to how you teasingly thumb at the slit of his cockhead, it was an overwhelming pleasure that Alhaitham was suddenly being exposed to.

You weren’t any better. Who knew Alhaitham could look so erotic, his body almost close into going in an autopilot as he responded to your touch with little to no shame. The whimpers and cries that echoed in the room were music to your ears, a blessing to indulge yourself in.

It was hard to hold yourself back from just fucking him into oblivion, and your sentiments wee shared as another cry left Alhaitham.

“M-More~” he whined, completely insatiable as he yearned for something bigger. Your fingers weren’t enough. He needs to feel full, something that could stretch him out until he could barely think. He opened his eyes, bleary with lust and carnal need in comparison to yours that were gleaming with concentration and hunger. “M-More please~” he parroted, unable to find any more words to beg you.

You could feel any form of restraint leaving you as his pleading reached you, already shooting straight down to your dick that twitched in anticipation and raw excitement. You immediately pulled your fingers away, shivering at the moan that you drew out of the man underneath you. Your hands quickly worked to free your own cock, hard and throbbing as it slapped against your stomach. There was a sense of satisfaction that washed over you at the way Alhaitham’s eyes grew wide when he saw you, like a cold water drenching him and pulling him back down to reality.

“Is… that even going to fit?” Alhaitham’s sudden reluctance was all the more endearing, making you laugh.

“I prepared you, didn’t I? But hey, the confidence solely lies on you. If you think you can’t handle it, best we quit ahead.”

He swallowed a lump down his throat before looking at you with a much more determined gaze, “I— N-No… I need to see it through.”

“You can hold my hand if you want,” you offered, lending out your own hand. Normally, Alhaitham would swat it away but did otherwise as he held yours, feeling feverish all of a sudden at the intimacy.

He could feel himself shrink as you positioned yourself in between his legs, towering over him with a reassuring smile. His thighs quivered around you while you lined yourself up in his entrance. He shuddered as your cockhead slowly rubbed up against his entrance, making him writhe in anticipation. Alhaitham met your gaze, suddenly considerate in contrast to your teasing self earlier.

“Don’t think too much of it,” you reassured him one last time. “Just ride out everything that you’re feeling.” You said and he nodded, soaking up every word of yours as he took a deep breath.

Alhaitham jolts at the sudden intrusive feeling once you ease yourself inside him inch by inch. He was quick to clench around your cock and you stopped, heaving a shaky sigh as the feeling of his warm walls around you bring you complete and utter bliss.

“Fuck… so tight, ‘Haitham,” you breathed out, a pleased hiss from your lips with every pulsating clench his walls made around your cock.

The scribe could barely process the feeling as he slowly took you in, his hole squeezing your length while you continued to push inside until you’re buried to the hilt. His hand squeezed around yours tightly as he tried to take in your words earlier and ride out any form of sensation that racked through his body. He could already feel the numbing pleasure rake in his system as the overwhelming sensation continued to eat away at his sensibilities.

You stilled yourself as you watched every expression Alhaitham’s pretty face contorted into. You only swept away his fringe away from his forehead that’s already dotted with beads of sweat and continued to observe him. You’ve never been this considerate when it comes to fucking someone, but given the fact that Alhaitham was just far too adorable, you made a conscious effort to be more gentle in his first time.

It didn’t take long before Alhaitham slowly rolled his hips, in terrible need for some more friction, “Y-You can move…” he stammered, still with his hand clutching onto yours so tightly.

You grinned a little before drawing your hips back and giving a testing thrust, pushing out a choked moan from the scribe, to which you greedily indulged in. Leaning in, you only gave a quick kiss on the shell of his ear before whispering;

“Don’t fall in love now.”

Alhaitham merely scoffed at your little taunt.

As if he would.

Miscalculations are rare in Alhaitham’s lifetime. Often times he’s mapped out every single action to consider to ensure a smooth sailing plan that he has to execute. Failure was a rare occurrence in the scribe— sorry, the Acting Grand Sage’s roster. He has yet to achieve a failure so spectacular that it puts his roommate to shame.

However, the way his eyes lingered on your form while you went about your day while you extended your stay in Sumeru was quick to tell him that the very idea of a miscalculation may not be so far-fetched in the first place.

And he absolutely loathed it.

It had been days since his… little research that you aided him in. Days since he felt the wonderful bliss of the mind numbing pleasure that only left his mind completely broken and incoherent. Days since he could feel the way your hands roamed around with such preciseness that every touch you left on him left him completely breathless. It had been days.

So then why? Why does he feel the same exhilaration whenever you were in the vicinity?

Why could he not push the thoughts of that night in the back of his mind? It was a skill he mastered that procured his unbothered persona. But the memories persisted like a parasite, latching onto his poor mind as it replayed the same night over and over again;

“H-Hah~! T-Too much already—!” Poor Alhaitham slurred, words barely able to convey while he held onto your hand for dear life, his eyes rolling at the back of his head while you pounded into him without an ounce of mercy. The bed creaked so violently under your movements, and his body shook in overstimulation.

“Just a little more, baby boy, one more, yeah?” You licked your lips hungrily, a predatory gaze flashing through your eyes as you devoured your prey.

Alhaitham winced as he slowly arched his back, suddenly feeling restless in his usual seat outside of Puspa café. Of all places, why couldn’t you have decided to chat with the nearby vendors. Where he can hear you and bury his mind into a delusion of bliss after hearing those sinful sounds from you when you bedded him that night. It was torture.

It was like a siren’s call, beckoning for him to give into his temptation. Except it was an excruciating thing to experience, drowning in that voice of yours that he could no longer hear normally.

“Oh! Isn’t that Alhaitham there?” He had to hide another grimace as the familiar shrill voice of your traveling companion echoed.

“So it is, let’s go say hi,” you smiled while you walked over to him, inviting yourself in without an ounce of embarrassment, like you didn’t make a mess out of him that particular night. “Been awhile.”

He could only stiffly nod before turning back to his book, “Mhm.”

“Yeesh! You’re just as cold as always! Hmph! Well, whatever. Paimon is going to get some food for herself.”

And just like that, there was silence in both of your company.

“Hey, you look really tense,” you frowned in concern and Alhaitham only continued to read into his book with an absent concentration that only served him to read the first lines of the paragraph over and over again. “I didn’t scare you now, did I?”

Alhaitham shuddered as the feeling of your touch slowly took over when your hands grazed by his shoulder in an attempt to console him. And the hauntingly addicting touches of yours continued to resurface in his mind.

A wanton squeal escapes Alhaitham as your fingers dug deep into the skin of his waist. He had little to no escape with the way you held him, hands completely sinking into his supple flesh to keep him in place. There was a rush of excitement that flooded Alhaitham’s system when you took hold of him in such a manner — possessive and almost desperate.

His already spent dick twitched at the notion, the very idea of you being all over him and wanting no one else but him. He wanted you to feel the same feeling that slowly poisoned his thoughts — that you would enjoy him just as much as he was enjoying you being so deep inside him.

He panted, short huffs leaving his wet lips that you vigorously licked, kissed, and bit until the both of you could taste his blood. He was a mess, from the marks on his collar down to the way even your fingertips made their bruising mark when you manhandled him.

Suddenly those touches burned through his skin, like you left them there just seconds ago. He was slowly feeling feverish. He could still remember which parts of him you touched, the way the uncomfortable feeling of your grip pressing against his soft skin was enough to get him on a state of frenzy.

You were far too intoxicating.

And without even an ounce of warning, he was suddenly met with your skeptic expression, clear as a day as you drew yourself nearer to his side, with your face a mere inch away from his. He could feel your even breathing, and could see those heavenly eyes of yours that peered through your thick lashes as you continued to put him on the spot with your own form of scrutiny.

“Tell me the truth, I didn’t scare you away from what happened nights ago, did I?”

He resisted the urge to swallow thickly — you may not be as smart as he is, but you were perceptive, already proven by the mere fact that you were quick to guess that his strange actions towards you did indeed stem from that amorous engagement you and him explored. Unable to focus on your minuscule concern, his gaze drifted down to your lips that formed into a frown, with your bottom lip jutting out a little in a very subtle pout.

Those lips. That mouth that often spoke of every proclamation and promise to aid whoever was in need of help, no matter how annoyingly minuscule the requests are.

His ears burned under his noise-cancelling headphones, finding himself completely unable to shut out the loud thrumming of his heart against his chest.

Who would’ve thought that mouth of yours were just as capable of delving into something incredibly lewd — that mouth that spoke valor suddenly speaking in the most flustering taunts that drove him over the edge.

Sobs spilled out from Alhaitham’s quivering lips, tears already flooding his ducts while you rutted into him like a dog in heat. The desperation in your thrusts were pushing up against his nearing release as your cock continued to abuse his prostate.

The overwhelming pleasure didn’t help as you busied yourself on his chest. You couldn’t leave it alone, your mouth already latching onto one of his sensitive and perky buds. Your tongue swirled against his swollen nipple and tore out another loud moan from the scribe. He was helpless against your ministrations. He could feel his stomach stir despite the fact that he was so sure he couldn’t cum anymore.

His hand shakily raked through the back of your head, biting his lip to keep himself composed.

You swiped your tongue against his nipple, looking up at him with a devious smirk, “Are you sure nothing’s coming out of these?”

“‘M… not a woman—” he protests in a weak voice, raspy from all the screams you drew out of him from coaxing orgasm after orgasm from him. “S-Stop saying that…”

“Getting embarrassed again?” You grinned, drawing your hips before snapping back into him, making him whine from the raw pleasure. “Aren’t you just the cutest~”

He isn’t. He’s far from such a description. Alhaitham knows that well. He was the intimidating figure of Akademiya, with his unbothered stoicism that could leave anyone scampering without the intention of screwing him over in the first place. But he hates how you’ve rendered him completely useless with just your words and subtle touches that quickly disarmed his guard that he put up several times already.

He loathes the mere fact that he couldn’t get you out of his head. Surely not all people that go through one night stands invoke such feelings of warm fondness towards someone they aren’t meant to be attached to. He’s not supposed to feel flustered just at the mere sight of you. He’s not supposed to feel vulnerable with your smiles. And he’s not supposed to feel the tempting submission with every touch you left on his body.

Alhaitham was quick to push your face away before running a hand through his own with a begrudging sigh, “…I am currently undergoing through a crisis. Please let me acquire some space for a good few minutes.”

He hates your dichotomy — from your ridiculously odious attitude when you fucked him, to your sudden gentleness when you were done and even the subsequent days after that.

You nodded in understanding (something he’d grown to fondly hate as well) with a patient smile, “Of course. How ‘bout I go get us some baklava? My treat.”

Your offer was oddly reminiscent of your aftercare too.

“Hope you can forgive the roughness. It’s your first time too,” he paid no heed to your apology. In fact, you’ve nothing to apologize for when you’ve granted him such a good fuck for his first time. He only relished in the feeling of your ghostly kisses against the bruises you made on him. “I’ll go get you some water. Need anything else?”

He was already dozing off by then.

He waved you off, more than eager to get you out of the way as the realizations slowly linked themselves in his constantly running mind.

Alhaitham dragged a hand over his face, repressing the urge to groan when he remembered your little taunt before this all happened.

“Don’t fall in love now.”

And damn it did he fall hard.

[signedeclipse]

r u taking requests 🥲? if u are can I ask for headcannons on muichiro, obanai, giyuu and shinobu x reader on what they would do if the reader is really tired and a huge sleepy head in general it would be so cute <333

Giyuu | Muichiro | Obanai | Shinobu [X Reader]

In which their s/o is always exhausted and has a hard time staying awake.

Giyuu

He himself was never a very high energy or high demand individual

But next to you, he looked like a kid during their first sugar rush

You were always either leaning him or tucked away on the most comfortable surface nearby, dozing off

No, you weren't apart of the corps, so he didn't have any reason to force you up

You had your own job and you did it when you had to, and when he was away he would always come back to a clean house with all the chores done, along with you napping in bed

To be fair, Giyuu just assumes this is normal

I mean, he would do the same if he could, but he had a lot of duties and training to tend to

He loves cuddling up with you though, you keep the bed nice and warm for him

Muichiro

Muichiro isn't really sleepy, but he does gaze off extremely often

You are both totally lost together, because he just found out the wind makes noise and you were half asleep on the floor

If you were in the corps, you'd never be sent on missions together because somehow together the effects are worse on one another

You do get your missions done when together, it just means less details are remembered and those can be extremely vital

When home, Muichiro makes you lay your head in his lap wherever he goes- usually outside- while he stares at something of interest and just thinks

One thing he does often is speak his thoughts out loud around you, because he knows you won't take it too seriously or make fun of the nonsensical things he comes up with

Sometimes he just stares at you, and wonders what you're dreaming about

When you wake up he tries to guess, he is only getting more accurate!

Obanai

It's not that he is very energetic, but Obanai likes to do small, menial tasks to keep himself occupied

It might be tending to Kaburamaru, small exercises, or renewing his bandages

He refuses to sit down, and even if he does, he will be working on polishing his blade, or eating a meal

For this, he makes you move a lot to wherever he is if he is home

Sleeping is something you do a lot, he knows you're always tired if you don't, so he doesn't want to force you awake or make you feel bad for it

Instead he just wants you to follow him when he moved to another area, and you can sleep there until he moves on again

It keeps you somewhat active, but also brings him comfort in knowing you'll still be there, even if silent and often unmoving

Shinobu

You were very comfortable to be around considering you were mostly silent or spoke in a melancholic tone

Since she was always studying or tending to others, it helped her plenty having someone like that around

Someone who would watch over her and encourage her to be productive while not distracting her from her work too much

But as a doctor, she also understood that if you stayed still in the comfort of the mansion too often, you might become deficient in important vitamins

" You have to go outside once a day, dear! It's not good for you to stay like this all day! "

She says it like it's fact, and she's probably right

So long as you go out once a day for a small walk she is happy

Set up a hammock on the porch of the butterfly mansion where you can sleep in the sun rays, so you get all the vitamins you need even while asleep

If she has a young slayer alone in any of the healing wards, she will ask you to sleep there so they feel better with company

Even if you are tired, she knows you'll get up to help someone who might need something or is becoming ill

Authors Note - Me too reader I love sleepin,,, I hope I was able to right up to your wishes, and thank you so much for requesting! This was pretty much all my most favourite hashira lol

[itsallmouthwashing]

Tulpar- Band AU, Character descriptions

I cannot draw- so have some written descriptions and tidbits about the members of Tulpar! I'm planning more bullet points tomorrow but contemplating how much I want to give away ;)

It's very late, I want to add more but I also want to get these OUT! I have much much more planned so don't worry all the details will come out

Bullet Points here

ANYA

Our goth bhaddie

Mid-short black hair, undyed (a NATURAL goth queen)

Usually with purple eyeshadow and black lipstick. Her makeup isnt too intricate, but sometimes she likes to do a classic goth look (white foundation, black EVERYWHERE, the works) when she’s feeling fancy. Later when their band goes much more hardcore, she rocks the look more often. It makes her feel powerful and confident on stage!

YES she has Doc Martens. NO she doesn't wear them. They make her FEET HURT!!!

Still likes jogging! Is that jog to the nearest Burger King? Sometimes! 

Her first tattoo is the one she gets with the crew when Tulpar gets signed :)

Has her ears and her bottom lip pierced. She plays with her lip piercing when she’s studying

She picked up bass at 12 

Does Daisuke’s and Curly’s makeup sometimes :)

Perfer’s purple nail polish :)

DAISUKE

I put in my Ghost Adventure’s AU that Dai would have dyed his hair pink or purple, so this barbie has pink hair :) He’s got a purple fringe :) Probably short-- think about base game Sims 4 short emo hair-- that one!

Loves to paint his and the crews nails, especially for concerts! It happens so often that it becomes ritual and start times will go over if they aren't finished in time. Daisuke WILL get this hand right and the fans WILL understand (they always do!)

Loves to pair undershirts with his collection of Hawaiian shirts. Of course, his pink hibiscus is a staple, but so is the mesh/fishnet unders he puts on when he starts to transition to an alternative style. 

picked up drums around 15, but got really focused on it and mastered them fairly quickly before they went pro

Prefers his nail polish to match with his shirt that day!

JIMMY

Does not have dyed hair either, but he likes to keep it long-ish. It hides his face better but also gets in the way when he doesn't want it to. 

Had a battle jacket, but the sleeves got damaged when he hosted a bonfire and he did not pay attention to the fucking bonfire. That's alright though, he turned into a battle vest!

Overall more of a grunge aesthetic/style

YES his crust pants are REAL stop ASKING HIM !! 

Songwriting has been a part of him since he was little. it was his way to vent, a way to cope, a way to be in control of the narrative

Didn't know when he was younger, but Jimmy has perfect pitch. When he figures this out, he boasts about it in his guitar classes

Buuuuuut it just means the other kids asked him to turn their guitars. That stopped very quickly after he smashed someone's guitar.

Picked up guitar when he was 8. His dad was going to throw it out, but little Jimmy insisted he keep it and that he would find someone who would buy it off of him. Maybe a teacher at school or something.

But instead go buying it from him, a teacher sits him down and teaches him how to play. He gets so lost in it, he begs the teacher to keep it here and teach him more after school. That teacher also teaches him how to write music!

Learns how to do makeup because he’s jealous of Anya- always touching his face so gently to fix his makeup. Quickly learns that all he can really do is his own eyeliner, and even then it’s mid

He’s trying though! (when Jimmy clams the fuck down he eventually goes to Anya and asks her to teach him. They have a nice bonding moment. (the worms demand more, so more there will be- here when I post)

Prefers black nail polish, demands he does it himself (Curly convinces him to let Dai do with Jimmy can't get his hands to stop shaking before a concert. Dai continues to do them after)

Bracelets and chains out the waazoo. When he warms up enough, he lets the band borrow some for shows. (Dai does attempt to actually steal one at some point. Jimmy breaks his nose over it (The worms have plans, you’ll find out why!)

Will! It! Boof! Welcome to Jimmy’s favorite game show! Can it be smoked? He’s fucking got it baybeeee!!

That is to say, he smokes cigarettes, vapes, weed, carts, dabs- yeah man. At least the things that wont get him in serious trouble with the law (at least… not for a little bit…) 

CURLY

The oldest of the group, beside Swansea when he makes his appearance. 

Mid-short blond hair, also undyed. He does get a perm sometimes. When Jimmy does missing, he has a full breakdown and dyes his hair black, but that's later that's later thatslaterthatdlater

Has snakebites and an eyebrow piercing 

Nipple piercings WHO SAID THAT 

When the band goes pro, Pony Express records demands the front man have a certain image because thats what’s hot with audiences and they need to bring in as much revenue as possible with their first album or they get dropped 

Picked up guitar freshman year of high school when he was accidentally enrolled in a guitar class. Some kid said he had perfect pitch, and Curly thought he would be the perfect person to ask about turning his guitar

Only he misunderstood. Though he asked him to tune it for him- Maybe he heard someone ask him about that earlier? He took the guitar with a smile, then smashed It to the ground like he was killing a bug.

The end of freshman year, just before the final for the class, some kid came up to him to tell him his instrument was out of tune. and that he could show him if he'd like. So he doesn't get bumped a letter grade, ya know?

The kid tunes it- just in time, because Grant's name was just called from the now empty class room.

Sophomore year, Curly is enrolled in a choir class, where he discovers his love and talent for singing. Sometimes when he does solos in the classroom, he feels someone watching him from the window in the door.

Prefers yellow nail polish! He loves the contrast of his nails against his outfit since he’s usually in all back 

Wears mostly suits. It's what his parents put him in growing up, so he has a ton and they just feel natural. Does it hurt when Jimmy convinces him to rip them up for a concert? Only a little ;-; Does it make the audience go wild? Only a lot :) 

Wears Jimmy’s chains way before the rest of Tulpar have access to them 

SWANSEA

Tulapr’s manager before and after they get signed with Pony Express Records. 

Usually wears a track suit or something, very casual around the crew. After they get signed though, hes always dressing in P.E records merch, ad later Tulpar merch when PER authorizes it!

Keeping his backstory mostly the same, his struggle with addiction does come into play with the story I have in mind 

Used to be really into the punk scene. If you loook really close, you can see the holes from his snakebites and brow bars. No one can see it, but he also used to have a septum piercing. 

He has a stash of his old clothes on the bus when Tulpar is tour-ready! He also becomes the resident seamstress if a costume rips or malfunctions :)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Malleus, Deuce: Like Mother, Like Son

BRO'S STILL MAKING THE "ARE YOU LOST BBY GHORL" FACE … Malleus’s birthday hits different knowing what I know now 💀 ALSO THE FACT THAT DEUCE SAID "THAT" ABOUT MALEFICENT VS THE HUMANS IS... (trying to keep this wording vague so as to not spoil people who haven’t gotten there yet)

It’s nice to see Malleus and Deuce in the vignettes, I feel like they don’t get to interact that much (which is a shame because I think their dynamic is cute). They had a chapter together in the manga anthology too! I’m glad they could hang out some more.

A Tale as Old as Time.

The princess and her prince were picture perfect in the painting.

The woman, with golden curls that tumbled down her back. Her cerulean gown spilled to the polished floors like a fabric waterfall, the tiara in her hair catching the soft evening light. She gazed up at her lover's warm, twinkling eyes, and smiled.

The man, brunette, locks falling loosely across his forehead. He was handsome in a red tunic with a high black collar, a crimson cape billowing out behind him with each step he took. His gaze was locked with the princess's, his one and only.

Onlookers gathered in a ring around the two, spellbound by how they danced, bodies twinning like threads bound together. It was something precious they dared not disturb, even their breaths clutched like pearls to prevent their escape.

This was happily ever after, a dream come true.

It should have been.

Yet Malleus frowned. His brows drew together and his mouth pursed, a brewing storm settling over his face.

“Draconia-senpai?” Deuce called to him anxiously. “I-Is something wrong? You look a little scary…”

The first year glanced at the portrait of the royal couple. He jumped. “D-Don’t tell me, did this painting piss you off?! Er, I mean... Did it offend you?"

“No, nothing of the sort,” Malleus replied. He rested an index finger against his chin. “It sparked memories of my own days in court. As the crown prince to the Briar Valley, it goes without saying that I've attended a number of occasions similar to what is depicted here."

"Oh, for real? That makes sense, you being royalty and all. What were those events like?"

"Most are rather solemn affairs. Grandmother, the senators, and other politicians gather to discuss diplomacy, trade, and national policies. For certain occasions, there are traditional rituals that must first be performed. A royal birth, for example, must be blessed before the festivities can commence. If it is a knighting, then all the royal guard shall be present and a speech of one's accomplishments read."

Deuce blinked a few times, as though shedding sleepiness. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of a prince's duties. He dropped the smartest sounding response he could: "That sounds tough."

Malleus lips slightly lifted. "I do not mind it. There is pride to be had in conducting such work."

I don't have a reason to doubt what he's saying, but... Deuce clenched his fists at his sides. If Draconia-senpai really feels that way, why does he still seem so pained?

The fairy drew out a sigh, as if dissatisfied with the silence. "... Ah, but how strange. When I look upon this painting, I see many people present... yet the princess touched by diurnal fae and her prince take no notice of them. They have eyes only for each other."

His words were velvet-lined, soft on the ears. Beneath them, a pang of longing rose like a fine mist at daybreak.

"What must it feel like to be so beloved?" Malleus wondered. "To have someone who considers you the most special being in all the world?"

Vines twisted in his gut, thorns prickling his insides. Frustration and molten discontent pooled. For all the power that he wielded, he failed to attain such a basic thing.

Love.

"Do you understand such a feeling, Spade?" The inquiry was pure acid.

"H-Huh, me?!" Deuce startled, not prepared for the demand in Malleus's voice. "Well... uh, I guess my mom calls me her big, strong man. Does that count?"

Malleus's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Is it customary for children of man to refer to their offspring as 'big, strong men'?"

"I think that's just my mom's thing." He shrugged. "I'm the only man in the house, so I try to help her out if I can. She jokes about it when I do."

Malleus made a face. It was difficult to discern the emotion he wore.

"Moms, right?" Deuce gave a nervous laugh. "They can be embarrassing, but they care about us a lot."

"I never knew my mother."

"... Oh." A rock dropped in Deuce's stomach. He hurried for an apology as dread rippled through him. "Shit, my bad! I didn't mean to..."

Malleus held up a hand in an elegant dismissal. "Be at ease. I harbor no anger."

There was no point, he told himself, in rage expressed for a woman he had no bond with. Her face, her voice--they were all a mystery to him. She was but a stranger adrift in an abyss.

Still, a part of him sparked at the thought of her, of someone he had yet to meet--would never meet. The thrill of fates closely intertwined, the tenderness of a parent's love.

Malleus went quiet, lowering his hand.

"Grandmother and Lilia have done their utmost to mentor me in her stead." He sounded hollow, insistent. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Deuce.

The Heartslabyul student swallowed. He placed a firm hand on Malleus's arm and squeezed. "... It's not enough, is it?"

He received no answer.

“Your mom is thinking of you, wherever she is.”

Malleus pulled away, presenting his back to Deuce. "Dead fae do not tell tales," he said simply.

“That doesn’t mean she loved you any less,” Deuce stubbornly protested. “Right up until her last breath… she must have been so happy to have you, thinking about what kind of person you’d grow up to be.”

Dreaming of the day when she can, at last, meet you.

Blink, and his eyes were wet. Blink again, and his vision blurred. Heartbeat hot and quick, galloping upon coals.

Did my mother truly…?

“She’d be damn proud of you too.” Deuce flashed a wicked grin. “Believe me.”

“… Hah.” Malleus chuckled dryly.

The longer he considered it, the more appealing the idea became.

A woman in his likeness—or was he made in hers? Papery kisses, fond embraces, words of affirmation. Fire that burned strongly, warding off the darkness.

Wouldn’t that be something?

"I love you, Malleus," whispered that she-phantom. Sweet nothings that sated his starved soul. "Forever and always. My dear son, my pride and joy."

The carefully constructed stone fortress around his heart faltered. His desire burned like a falling star.

He took a breath, and fell from the heavens with his wish.

“Thank you, Spade.”

Just for this moment, let me walk once upon a dream.

A single tear slipped down Malleus’s cheek.

And what a wonderful dream it was.

[animefreak1145]

•´¯`•» 🎀 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝓇🍬𝒹𝓊𝒸𝓉𝒾❁𝓃 🎀 »•`¯´•

😘𝓗𝓒’𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓓𝓲𝓿𝓪 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓵: 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 1😘

Bell decodes with different colored glitter gel pens. ✨🖋️

—Each color means something unique in regards to the necessary information to decipher, encrypt, decrypt along with any necessary information. 😌That’s at least what Bell says when Hudson complains with a twitching brow and a vein in his forehead. 😇 He never gets the bigger picture like Bell does 🙄

In the same papers of her work, Bell does random doodles of “R+B”, hearts, cigarettes, smoke from the cigarette in a shape of a heart, and shades. 🤭

—She also has every “i” and “j” with a heart instead of a dot if she’s decoding English. “ö” “ü” “ä” “i” and “j” in German. Sadly, there is no possible hearts when she writes in Russian. 😔 But she writes pretty Russian clear cursive instead to make up for it 🥰✨

No leaving the safehouse till Bell’s nails are fully dried. 🙄💅 No chips will be created nor warbled polish on her nail that looks like someone took a shit on it. 😤 Thankfully she’s time efficient and plans accordingly if it’s for a mission. If anyone complains or is not willing to wait, be prepared for a whiny complaining Bell the ride. Everyone has learned their lesson the first time, however. 😌💅

—Bell has a special polish ordered overseas where it’s infused with snake venom. 😌💅 If someone gets slapped by her with her perfect almond shaped nails—they’ll surely get a scratch and feel the effects of the venom quickly with a burning sensation. 😇🤭 Nothing like another’s screams at how perfect you do your nails. 💅✨

Bell gives everyone health tips in any way, shape or form in every conversation if possible. She’ll squeeze something related into it unprompted but that’s because she’s just looking out for everyone 😌😇 Including Russ 😍😍😍

Speaking of health, Bell absolutely needs her beauty sleep in the correct amount of hours each and every time. 😤 She will not have eye bags. Anything that needs to be done can be done the next day 😌💯

She randomly goes outside of the safehouse to tan with a bikini on in a makeshift chair she made with the pallets and chair cushions. She needs to keep her tan line 💅 It doesn’t matter how cold it is, she’s quite capable. 😌

—it also gives her an excuse to either ask or “borrow” Adler’s jacket to warm her up. 😏😘 She also likes to steal either his or Hudson’s shades while she tans in between decoding. 😎😜Adler knows her play early on with a roll of his eyes and starts to refuse, making sure he has her own jacket ready on hand. He’s immune to Bell’s pouts 😭 but not immune to her other numerous plans for him to fall for her. 😌😍💁‍♀️

All her plans are laid out in her journal that looks like she “edited” with pink glitter and cut outs you can find in crafting stores that won’t break such as shades 🕶️, lipstick kisses💋 , lipstick💄, nails 💅 and nail polish at the front titled: “Classified”. 💯 Inside there’s a 15 step listed plan on the different scenarios Bell has for him to fall for her or make a move on her.

—Adler found it while snooping around her hotel room, read it, and slowly put it back and left the room. (He read that Bell has already done 1–6 of her plan 🤭😘) He doesn’t know why he’s starting to feel suspicious of the high maintenance terrorist that was clearly from high society based on his observations, but he can’t shake it after the Berlin Wall mission. 😌 Russ is so astute and sharp 😍🥰😘

Bell has a voice kink. 😍😍😍 Only Russ’s tho 😤 She loves how often Russ says her name at the end of each sentence practically. His voice sounds so sauce when he says “We’ve got a job to do” too! 🥰🥰🥰 What a man! 😘

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A/N: More HC’s to come! This is just the set up. I’ll have drabbles here and there. Remember this is for fun and more information will be revealed in this format along with drabbles. 😂

I also wanna try to show what Bell’s feed would look like if she wasn’t born so early. This Bell would’ve loved TikTok and Insta. And a menace on Twitter, based on @makeyourpeacenow own observation. I just need to figure out how to do it. 💀

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121 @pyxis-stellae @makeyourpeacenow @obsessedgremlin @butterfly-stitches @djloveyou3000